


a way to go

by februyuri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trans Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/februyuri/pseuds/februyuri
Summary: God, Cas can fuck him up so easily, like he’s come across a stray thread and is just pulling without a thought. “I’m gonna get us both killed,” Dean promised him, and his voice was choked.Cas’s answering smile was so wide it split his face. “What a way to go.”After Zachariah’s vision of the future, Dean doesn’t reconcile with his brother. He doesn’t say yes to Michael. Instead, the world slowly goes to hell around him and he finds that all they have left, him and Cas, are each other.Deviation from canon post-5.04.





	1. Part 1

Some housekeeping! Hi all, I haven’t watched much past season 9 (I quit the show shortly after Kevin died), and most of my knowledge has been filled in via transcripts/wikis/YouTube AMVs. If there are any inconsistencies (please!) let me know.

This story is organized into five parts, and I’ll list content warnings for chapters at the beginning of each part (as seen below). I’ll say, overall, nothing too fucked up happens beyond typical SPN but that this is an Endverse fic. Please [contact me](https://unadornedsincerity.tumblr.com/) if you’d like any clarification or if there was something I’ve missed. I think music greatly enhances the SPN experience, so I plan to post recs :)

I want to thank [Kaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlite/profile) and [Christina](https://gayfandomblog.tumblr.com/) for editing/feedback!!

I'll update on Thursdays but I’m a full-time student so I can't guarantee that it will be _every_ Thursday. Still, I hope you'll stick around and enjoy!

[(art here)](https://februyuri.tumblr.com/post/188066632665/but-instead-we-become-this-the-only-thing-i)

**Song recs:**

  * cold love – rainbow kitten surprise
  * holy – frightened rabbit
  * weights & measures – dry the river
  * taken by the tide – mystery jets

**Content warnings:**

  * food/eating (Ch 2 - November 2009)
  * alcohol/drinking (Ch 4 - April 2010, Ch 5 - May 2010)
  * suicide mention (Ch 5 - May 2010)

_ Feel free to ask for clarification! _


	2. November 2009

_November 5, 2009 – Wellington, Ohio_

In the beginning, it took two hours for neutrons and protons to pool together, like little dancers whipping into shape. As the universe cooled further—electrons began to join the dance, and from that came hydrogen, and—stunningly—hints of helium. And Castiel had watched, like a child beneath fireworks on the fourth of July, he had gaped in awe.

And he had never quite stopped watching. The stars, but then of course, helplessly, the planets. Of all the worlds that had risen and fallen, Earth had been the one left standing. Earth, which could at a glance seem so unremarkable, but then, Castiel had always been poor at predicting what would become important to him.

Dean hadn’t spoken much about what he had seen in Zachariah’s construction, or at least, not to Castiel. Dean had likely explained his experiences in detail to Bobby Singer but out of respect Castiel abstained from spying, or prying. He also didn’t dare question Zachariah; his relationship to the Winchesters, and now perhaps just Dean, had forced him to walk a very tenuous rope with his siblings. Of course, he still wondered.

Castiel knew so many souls on this Earth deserved paradise, deserved absolution and bliss. But he could no longer trust that Heaven would provide that. He couldn’t even trust that it was truly worth providing. He had to question everything now.

He clutched Dean’s amulet in one hand. Peru, Norway, Nigeria, Thailand. Every church in Slovenia, from forgotten cottages to grand Cathedrals. Hawai’i. He traveled, waiting for it to light up, to burn. And it didn’t. It never had. Dean was convinced that God was dead, in every sense of the term. And, perhaps he was right.

“How’s the great God hunt of ‘09 been going?” Dean spoke up. He’d taken Cas to a diner within driving distance of the old warehouse and was picking at his pancakes. He’d ordered Cas a stack, but neither of them was eating. This was all to celebrate, apparently, though it didn’t feel celebratory, especially with Dean asking Castiel to list his failings.

“Not well,” Castiel replied, narrowing his eyes at Dean. What Gabriel had said back there, about God, still stung. He wasn’t sure if Dean was being obtuse or mocking him. “The moment that changes I’m sure you’ll be among the first to know.” Dean rolled his eyes. He was being mocking, then.

“Well, it’s been going just swell over in my neck of the woods, Cas,” he said, determined, it seemed, to have some type of conversation with Castiel. “Met Paris Hilton, ganked her. You know. Met the antichrist, you were actually around for some of that. Became an old man for a hot second. I’m not, anymore.” He looked over at Castiel, like he was expecting his response.

“Congratulations?” Cas tried. It seemed to satisfy Dean. Though not for long, soon he was turning his face away from Castiel, sighing as though greatly stressed. Castiel was tired too, worn thin, having put his quest on hold to find Dean and having fought razor-sharp shadows that Gabriel had conjured. He looked down at his pancakes again and wondered if he should try one to appease Dean.

It had been some time since they had spoken to each other, true. And Dean did not seem willing to relinquish Castiel. Perhaps it was loneliness. Dean had parted ways with his brother not long ago, and after the vision Dean had beheld once Zachariah had sunk his talons into him, him and Castiel had hardly spoken. It was clear something had happened then, despite how flippant Dean behaved about nearly everything.

Suddenly, Dean resumed speaking. “All that stuff the Trickster was spouting in there…Gabriel, or whatever,” he said, voice tight in his throat. “It the truth?”

“What stuff?” Castiel asked, perhaps more sullenly than was called for. “Michael? Lucifer? You and your brother’s role in it all?” Dean nodded. Well, the answer, Castiel found, was both easy and—difficult, in its own way. “Yes.” Dean flinched.

“Guess that’s why I got raised, huh?” he asked. It sounded cheap, the way Dean talked about it. But, it was the truth. “Jesus, ain’t nothing in this world for free,” Dean grumbled, tossing his knife down on his plate. He glanced down. “You know if Gabriel gave this pep talk to my brother? Or was the pleasure all mine?” Castiel blinked.

“I hadn’t noticed Gabriel’s presence until after your absence.” He felt guilty admitting it, like he’d done something wrong by himself, or Heaven, or even Dean, by playing favourites. But then, Gabriel had always seemed to prefer torturing Sam over his brother, and if he hadn’t spoken to Sam already, he soon would.

Castiel began to get to his feet, assuring Dean, “I’ll warn Sam that—”

“Sit down one second,” Dean snapped. Cas raised an eyebrow. He’d barely stirred from his seat, but he relaxed back into it. “Eat your pancakes. Christ, everyone’s so eager to split.” Castiel noticed then, for the first time, stripped of set makeup and stage lights, how tired he looked. What a lonely figure he made.

He had been through much today. Gabriel had kidnapped him, forced him through a perverse adaptations of television shows, all circling around one overarching theme, one final message. That not only should the Apocalypse go forward as planned but that they should hasten its arrival. As taxing as it had been for Castiel to find his way through the traps and mazes Gabriel had put in his path back to Dean, Dean was more affected than him by far.

“Gabriel…” Cas began, tentatively, “…is an archangel, the youngest of four. Michael and Lucifer were the oldest brothers, and Michael cast Lucifer out for not serving humanity. Now that the Apocalypse has begun, Gabriel wants it over with. The final battle.” Raphael wanted Heaven on Earth at long last, Gabriel just wanted the war over, no matter which way the dice fell.

“So, me and Sam,” Dean said, voice thick in his throat. “We were—born and bred to fulfill some upstairs prophecy for…for what?”

“Paradise on Earth,” Castiel reminded him. After much loss of life, which would arguably be immaterial to righteous souls, but he knew Dean wouldn’t see it that way and he wouldn’t remind Dean of that burden. He could see Dean already piecing the unspoken together, grinding his teeth in thought, ever the pessimist.

Castiel knew, logically, if Heaven required such a thing, then it should follow that such a thing was good, or at least required for the greater good. But, he wasn’t sure who he could trust anymore. He really could only trust Dean, and Dean didn’t seem to like him much half the time, even if he _had _bought him a meal.

“Think Sam’s gonna fall for that?” Dean asked. Castiel looked down at his pancakes. They had cooled and the syrup Dean had laved on them had soaked through, leaving them slick and unappealing. All Castiel could think to say was that Sam wasn’t _his_ brother, but Castiel’s handle on family had always been weak.

“He said yes,” Dean spoke up. He had taken Castiel’s hesitation as an opinion and, perhaps it was. Castiel glanced up at Dean. The exhausted shape he made in the dim lighting of the diner. “In the future Zachariah showed me.”

Castiel was exhausted too. Exhausted of trying to find a God that everyone, Uriel, Raphael, even Gabriel, seemed to believe no longer existed, or at the most no longer cared. Even Dean felt that way. Castiel had half a mind to return the amulet Dean had given him right this moment, useless as it was proving to be. But then, Castiel questioned if Dean would want it back. This amulet, too, had fallen into Sam and Dean’s possession by the circumstances of their birth.

There wasn’t any sort of comfort that Castiel could provide for Dean, no matter how sorely he seemed to need it. Castiel could only return to his quest to find God, surfing channels so to speak, praying to God that he would find Him. Still, Castiel remained behind and eyed the uneaten pancakes.

“You haven’t spoken to your brother,” he observed.

“Nah,” Dean said, imitating casualness. He rubbed his fist against his mouth, but it just made his nervousness more apparent. Castiel was aware that Sam and Dean had had some sort of falling out. He didn’t know the details. He hadn’t pressed.

“I’ll warn Sam,” Castiel repeated. This time, he didn’t make a move to leave, and he received the impression that Dean appreciated it.

Of all the things in the universe, humans had always quietly surprised Castiel the most. A single child could humble him as much as the most expansive galaxies, as the most intricate crystal. But he had seen humanity be so cruel, to each other and themselves. They armed themselves with what they in their hearts felt was right, felt would lead to a gentler world, and he watched them fight and bleed and die for it.

Cas’s gaze often trended to the littler things, to the hum of photosynthesis, to the buzz of bees. When he couldn’t look at humanity, he still looked at Earth, as was his charge. But the Earth looked back and he couldn’t just continue to watch. Not if he could help. And if that meant he had to become one of them, that he had to fight and die like one, then it only made sense that that’s what he would choose to do.

_November 12, 2009 – Vermilion, Ohio_

Castiel had marked both Dean and Sam invisible to angels, and this fact had made Dean quite difficult to track down in the first place once Gabriel had taken him. Castiel had had to rely on Bobby’s aid then, and it was Sam’s brief communication with Bobby now that had allowed Castiel to locate him.

“Did Gabriel speak to you?” Castiel asked, startling Sam into nearly dropping his car keys.

“Nice to see you too, Cas,” Sam hissed, looking around to see if anyone had spotted Castiel’s arrival. They hadn’t. There was not another soul in sight, which was to be expected given that Sam was standing just outside a graveyard at eight o’clock, but Sam’s paranoia remained. Castiel watched him curiously.

“What are you doing here, Sam? You are aware that Dean doesn’t know you’re going on hunts,” he said, trusting his disapproval was clear in his voice. He didn’t fully understand the lines the brothers had drawn for each other but Castiel was under the impression that Sam was crossing one now.

“That’s why I checked in with Bobby,” Sam said, pinching his brow in one hand. “Believe me or not, I’ve been _avoiding_ hunts. I came here just to check the place out in case there was something, and there is.” Then he turned a glare on Castiel. “And Bobby sent you, so either you _help_ me—or you butt out.”

Castiel nodded reluctantly. His quest had been—fruitless of late, and this being the first time he’d managed to find Sam he was not inclined to leave him just yet. “Tell me the details,” he said. Cas doubted there was anything Sam was planning to do that Castiel could not do in his stead, but Sam had talent with research.

The Winchester sighed loudly. He seemed distressed, and he fixed a watery gaze on Castiel. “I got in touch with someone from the County Historical Society,” he explained. “People at the Pineview Hotel are doing some kind of treasure hunt based on a made-up case, except that the details are real. There was a woman here, in the early 1900s, Letitia Gore—who butchered four boys. One of them was her own son.”

Castiel blinked. “That’s terrible,” he said.

Sam just sighed again. “You’re telling me,” he muttered, looking weary. “This is the anniversary of her murders. And, I’m pretty sure she’s haunting the place tonight.”

Castiel nodded. “It’s likely,” he agreed. “Spirits that resist passing on tend to agitate on significant dates.”

Sam suddenly seemed irritated. “No offense, Cas, but I don’t need your expert opinion here,” he said. “I need your help.” Castiel bristled. Between him and Dean, Sam gave the impression that he was the polite, well-mannered brother. Perhaps, left to his own devices, there was no one for him to contrast himself against, and Sam appeared relatively rude.

“Who are you supposed to be?” a man asked, catching up to them, curious. Perhaps this was who Sam had been minding when he’d fretted at Castiel’s materialization earlier. “One of the victims?” Castiel glared at his insolence.

“No,” he growled.

“Let’s just find the grave and get this over with,” Sam muttered.

“We’re more authentic,” another man asked, nudging his comrade. “This guy maybe got the height, but we’ve got each other, Dean.” Dean? Sam gave Castiel no answers, just rolled his eyes in a way that suggested Castiel should pay no mind.

They left the parking lot, walking into the graveyard, Sam hefting a shovel with him. The two men that tailed them spoke deliberately and dramatically, referring to each other as Sam and Dean. Noting Sam’s expressions of exasperation, Castiel decided to let the issue rest. The night was still, but it promised violence to come.

“I wasn’t lying, Cas,” Sam spoke up to Castiel as they walked along. “Last town I found got invaded by demons, and some hunters made me drink demon blood so that I would take revenge for them. So, I left. I found a new town. New grocery store. New well-meaning people who have no idea what a freak I am.” At least Sam was able to acknowledge it.

“And Gabriel?” Castiel asked. He had almost forgotten why he had come.

“Yeah, he found me,” Sam sighed. “He told me I had to ‘play my role’ in the Apocalypse and get possessed by Lucifer.” It was bizarre, the way Sam worded it, as though Lucifer was a common demon and not an angel, not unlike Castiel, who required consent. Sam glanced over at Castiel. “You guys will be happy to know I’m not—I’m not champing at the bit.”

“Hey, is this like—spoiler stuff for Carver Edlund’s new work?” the false Dean asked. They’d ceased their show and started listening in on Castiel and Sam’s conversation. The flashlight Castiel had been politely carrying for Sam caught on a familiar name on one of the gravestones. Letitia Gore. “Because it sounds kind of—” the man went on, “insane.”

Sam wielded his shovel carefully. “You have no idea,” he said with a humourless look to Castiel, and then he began to dig.

_November 12, 2009 – Vermilion, Ohio_

In the chaos that followed, Sam barely escaped with his life. It wasn’t for being out of practice, and indeed even Castiel had been hindered by the ghosts’ presence, but they had largely relied on the two civilians to save the day. But, with all the ghosts put to rest, Castiel finally had a chance to breathe and take in the sight.

“What…is this place?” Castiel asked Sam at last, glaring at the scene around them. People—dressed _bizarrely_—some in plainclothes and some as monsters as though it were Halloween, milling around aimlessly outside the hotel, speaking to police.

“It’s uh—it’s some kind of convention,” Sam said. Castiel frowned. “Supernatural convention. Chuck Shurley.”

“The Prophet,” Castiel realized. He had seen him inside. Sam nodded.

“Chuck—well, actually his girlfriend, Becky—called me out here.” He oriented his head towards the young woman sending him salacious glances from across the parking lot. He looked discomfited. “But, it might have paid off. You’re not going to believe it, but I got a lead on the Colt.”

“Dean and I used to have the Colt before it was stolen by a woman named Bela,” Sam explained. “She told us she gave it to Lilith, but apparently, according to Chuck’s books, she didn’t.” Sam didn’t go on, and he looked at Castiel like he was expecting some reaction. Then he sighed. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he griped.

“Go on,” Cas insisted. He glanced about the room, avoiding the gaze of the woman, Becky.

“Alright, so apparently she gave the Colt to Lilith’s right hand man, a demon named Crowley,” Sam explained. “And the Colt is—pretty much our only chance to kill Lucifer. Do you think you could track Crowley down?” That sounded too easy, especially given the fact that in the vision Zachariah had shown Dean it had taken him five years to locate the weapon.

“Of course,” Castiel said. “But, you do understand…you should have limited involvement in this.” Sam’s face fell. But they both knew that if, _if_ Castiel reclaimed the Colt, Lucifer’s vessel being involved in the attack against him was an unnecessary risk. Sam’s posture straightened out, understanding.

“I know,” he said after a moment. For all his flaws, he didn’t seem to be as needlessly pigheaded as Dean. But then Sam pressed, “I know I should stay out of this. I know. I just—how can I, Cas? How can you ask that of me?” Just like Dean, Sam was righteous.

“Your brother will handle this.”

“Yeah, Dean’s been taking care of me my whole life,” Sam said. He sounded guilty. “And now just because—just because I’m Lucifer’s vessel I have to sit this one out and let him do it all on his own.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Is Michael that much better?” he asked. “Because, no offense, you guys are all kind of dicks.” Castiel couldn’t be too offended; in some ways, Sam was correct. Castiel, too, no longer trusted Heaven.

“It’s not because you’re Satan’s chosen, Sam,” he said at last. “It’s because you are weak.” Sam flinched, but it had to be said, it was the truth. “And Dean is hardly alone. He has many allies.” Sam had come here by himself, after all.

In some ways, it seemed Sam had been adapting better to his time apart from his brother. He had clearly been exercising, eating healthy. But there was a thin line of impatience to him that Castiel could no longer attribute to his addiction. Humans were social creatures and family mattered greatly to them.

“I’m just going to go crazy thinking about what I could do to help,” Sam said. “I have to…I have to do _something_. Even if it’s got nothing to do with the Colt.” His nostrils flared, determined. “I want back in.” Castiel knew, from his conduct today, that Sam was not entirely the black-or-white abomination Castiel had thought him to be. He was…a good man. Perhaps there was hope.

“Have faith, Sam,” Castiel said, reaching out to touch Sam’s shoulder. It’s all he could say. Sam nodded, and he faded ever further.

_November 15, 2009 – St. Petersberg, Russia_

Cas kneeled on the cold floor, gripping Dean’s amulet between his two hands clasped in prayer. This building was older than the first church ever erected in America, but the amulet didn’t burn. Still, Cas took this moment of reprieve to just pray. Though Dean’s opinions on His existence had awoken something like doubt in Castiel.

It had taken Castiel decades of battle to reach Dean in Hell. Each failure and loss of life, each angel that had fallen, was another nail in Dean’s coffin. And Castiel couldn’t have known the state of Dean’s soul; he hadn’t known Dean at all. He only had his orders and, as his siblings and comrades perished around him, he clung ever tighter to them. To God’s word. Dean Winchester would be saved.

They had lost huge swaths of warriors in Limbo pushing past crowds of condemned souls slowly wandering their way into Hell. It was difficult, in retrospect, to consider whether the first wave of demons was more horrific than the last. They had certainly lost many, but the number almost jumbled together in Castiel’s mind, rendering their loss less significant than that which was to come. The Garrison had pushed through.

Hell was Hell regardless where they travelled, subtle changes in scenery notwithstanding, but the difference between Limbo and the next rung was obvious. This was where the punishment started in earnest, the transformation from sinful soul to corrupt demon, the transformation of soul to power which could be harnessed. To witness such bloody, intimate torture; it was repulsive.

Castiel had lost track of his location after awhile, distinction lost amongst the gruesome grind of war. If he had to guess where it was that Dean had lain amongst it all, he wouldn’t have been able to. Perhaps the circle Castiel would have proposed was the seventh, that of violence. Before Dean had even gone to Hell, Heaven had started plotting his liberation but Castiel hadn’t known what his involvement would be. All he knew of Dean is what he had been told and Dean had lived a life of blood.

At any rate, Dean hadn’t been stationed in the centre and final level, a space reserved for Lucifer and other traitors, and for that Castiel was grateful. When he had finally caught sight of Dean’s soul amongst the twisted and bloodied writhing bodies, recognized his composition, Castiel had almost rejoiced. His journey was almost done, almost a success. As his garrison, or what remained of it, fended off the souls rising up to attack them Castiel had charged forward, blade in his left hand, to save Dean Winchester.

When Castiel had reached out to take Dean by the arm, to pull him away from the violence, he’d left a mark. Like Achilles in his mother’s grasp, it was unavoidable—a result of Grace gripping Soul. And, to an extent, it had stood as a symbol from Heaven, a brand. They would have insisted Castiel heal it otherwise.

It was a way to assert Heaven’s dominance, their unavoidable presence, a reminder that Dean owed his life to them. It wasn’t meant to be about Castiel. It wasn’t even meant to be about Dean. But Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if there was some sort of physical law at play. That where Castiel pushed, Dean pushed back. An equal and opposite force, gripping him in turn.

If Castiel was a coward, he could say that that’s where it began. It was easy, in a sense, to credit Dean with how Castiel felt. To blame him, almost. Dean’s doubts replicated and sublimated into Castiel. Dean’s easy affection. Dean’s righteousness. Their relationship was significant, but Castiel’s choices weren’t Dean’s fault, it was just that thanks to him Castiel understood the world better. He could see now why Anna had fallen.

She had seen something in humanity it had taken…_everything_ for Castiel to have the strength the acknowledge. And he’d turned her in. It was a different time then…and there was nothing that could be done to get her out anymore, but it dug at him still. Castiel knew Heaven’s persuasion, knew that Anna was likely feeling it now. If she were here, if Castiel hadn’t betrayed her to them, no doubt she would be able to help. That was one reason Castiel couldn’t blame his change of heart on Dean alone. Dean would never have made the choices Castiel had.

“You seem troubled, my son,” a gentle voice spoke up from behind Castiel. Castiel recognized him as one of the church’s priests, a devout man.

“I am looking for God,” Castiel explained. He had wearied of travel and had thought to perhaps try his hand at prayer. If God still existed, he would surely hear Castiel in such a place. He would surely give Castiel some sign, some indication of what the right thing to do was, even if He did not come to help Castiel Himself. Surely. The priest smiled.

“God is in all things,” he said. He was kind. He kneeled down next to Castiel as though they were equals. “If you seek Him that is a good thing, for He is already seeking you.”

Castiel could have laughed. “I wish that were true, Father,” he said. “He’s never been needed more. I’ve been travelling this Earth, searching for Him, and I haven’t found a single sign. Truth be told, I’m not sure that He exists anymore.” Castiel looked away from the priest, out to the empty and so intricately decorated church, at the demonstration of devotion in every inch of this holy place. Castiel felt nearly guilty to be there as he said, “I’m beginning to doubt that He ever has.”

“That’s why you must have Faith, my son,” the priest concluded. “Faith does not depend on proof, but upon devotion. Upon your love.” Castiel couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him that he’d _had _Faith his entire existence, since before the Earth had congregated in the black sky, and he’d never thought to question it until recently. That perhaps Faith was just another brand of arrogance.

“Thank you, Father,” Castiel offered, getting steadily to his feet, amulet clutched in his hand. “But God is not ubiquitous. He isn’t here.” The amulet was cold to the touch. And before the priest could open his mouth to kindly argue, Castiel disappeared before his eyes. A small miracle. Perhaps it would reinforce the priest’s own Faith, but it would do little for Castiel.

_November 19, 2009 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

The demon, Crowley, had been located and surprisingly forthcoming; their pursuit of the Colt had finally yielded results. A victory that Castiel could only hope would lead to more victories. If they struck back against the devil, killing him before he truly began to wage his war, Castiel wouldn’t need to fruitlessly search for God any longer. For the first time in a long time, Castiel was hopeful.

The rest of the household was already asleep; Bobby walked to his bedroom almost immediately after dinner. After some vain attempts to inebriate Castiel, Ellen and Jo had turned in to share the guestroom. It was just Dean and Castiel now, Dean putting off taking the couch, and Castiel left waiting. However, any interest Dean should have had for sleep was spent observing their prize.

“Should we contact Sam now that we have the Colt?” Castiel spoke up, watching Dean turn the weapon around in his grasp, hands sure but careful. Dean glanced up from the gun, as though Castiel had broken through a trance. “When Lucifer approaches him—you’d be prepared.”

“C’mon dude, we just got this thing,” Dean argued, wrapping it up carefully in cloth, stuffing it in his jacket pocket. Cas watched the movement reproachfully. “I was still looking for the Colt in 2014, and I don’t feel like losing it just yet.” Dean seemed to live fitfully beneath the shadow of the vision of the future Zachariah had showed him but this—the Colt in his hands—provided him with some optimism.

Dean glanced down, clearing his throat. “If Lucifer takes over Sam and Sam’s got the Colt, we’d be screwed,” he said, not having much faith in his brother, or Castiel’s common sense. He had only meant that Dean should inform Sam, or at least speak to him. Of all the troubles that weighed on Dean, his brother’s absence was clearly the heaviest. Even Castiel could see that.

“Besides,” Dean said. “Sam doesn’t need to be around for the big day.” They were headed to Carthage, Missouri come morning to investigate some strange phenomena which appeared to be linked to Lucifer—at least according to the demon. Dean seemed troubled by that as well—given how easy it seemed and how difficult Dean knew the world to be.

They’d drunk that night as though it were a victory to receive the Colt, but when Bobby had gathered his people around for a photograph, a moment had passed which had, even to Castiel, felt grave as death. The weapon the demon had given them was the genuine artifact, but still there was no certainty that it wasn’t somehow a trap, there was no certainty at all.

“You don’t trust your brother,” Cas stated, trying to understand just why exactly Dean wouldn’t choose to speak to Sam now that victory—or utter defeat—was in their grasp. Dean frowned.

“I don’t know why Sam says yes,” he muttered his explanation. “I’m sure he’ll have his reasons. We always do.” He glanced down at the counter. He looked in that moment much older than his years. “The further Sam stays from this crap, the better. I’ll handle it.” He tipped the beer he had liberated from Bobby’s fridge towards Castiel. “_We’ll_ handle it.” Castiel wasn’t reassured.

“And what about Sam?” he asked softly.

“What _about_ Sam?” Dean echoed, voice edgy with challenge. Within the next few seconds he looked regretful and his gaze dropped from Castiel’s face. He let his bottle roll idly between his fingers. “How is he, Cas?” he asked; a confession.

“He seems…well,” Cas said. He now knew where Sam was staying. As Castiel cycled through the world, he would periodically check in on the younger Winchester. For what little it was worth, Sam had not lied to Castiel, he was not seeking out hunting. That wasn’t to say that Sam had been entirely inactive.

“He’s been doing a lot of reading,” Castiel concluded. He neglected to tell Dean what exactly Sam had been reading, and with that Dean seemed to nearly melt with relief, a soft smile colouring his lips.

“You can get the boy out of Stanford, but you can’t get the Stanford outta the boy,” he said, with a hint of pride. Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was expecting Sam would be doing with their distance. It seemed evident to Castiel that if Dean was trying to stop the devil, that Sam would be doing something similar. Still, there was no need to trouble Dean yet.

“You could ask him yourself,” Cas chanced. Dean frowned.

“No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.” Castiel frowned back at him. “Me ‘n’ Sam…” Dean went on after a moment, trailing off as emotion caught his throat. “I’d do anything for him, Cas. I’d let Lucifer break my neck before I’d hurt my brother’s _body_.”

“Dean, whatever you saw,” Cas reminded him, because while they hadn’t been speaking about it directly Castiel had no doubt in his mind Dean was once more referring to Zachariah’s vision, “is not necessarily what will transpire.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m banking on,” Dean said, choked. “My point is…it didn’t exactly ring out of character.” Given the circumstances he and Castiel had met under, Castiel wasn’t inclined to argue. Dean looked down at his hands, unclenching them. He took a swig of his beer. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed, seemingly impatient.

“I can’t live my life for my brother, anymore,” Dean said, setting his bottle back on the coffee table. “Especially when I know he’ll sell me down river for a little extra juice.” He seemed weary with anger and sadness. “But…he’s always going to be my brother.” That was something that would clearly never change.

Castiel felt the instinct, like an itch. Perhaps it was Jimmy’s vessel, reaching out, knowing what Dean needed. Perhaps. Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, catching his gaze, trying to bring him some comfort. Dean didn’t like words, and Castiel wondered if he could impress upon Dean just how pleased he was to hear that Dean’s regard for his brother hadn’t changed, not fundamentally, without saying it out loud.

Dean shuffled, seeming self-conscious. “What?” he asked, but his voice was soft. Cas pulled his hand away, feeling a smile broaden across his lips.

“You’re a good man, Dean,” he replied, not knowing what else to say but feeling some quiet truth in his words. He turned his head from Dean to give the man some space and Dean opened his mouth, clearly to argue, but fell silent. He glanced down at the coffee table, away from Castiel.

“Right,” he said, sounding a little choked. He took another drink of his beer, smile gone. Castiel wasn’t sure if he had helped at all as Dean added, for no reason that Castiel could comprehend, “Let’s try to keep it that way.”

_November 21, 2009 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

_ “—just received an update that the governor has declared a state of emergency for Paulding County, including the towns of Marion, Fetterville, and Carthage,”_ came the voice from the television set. They all sat around, staring into the fireplace, as the reporter went on, “_The storm system has reportedly touched off a number of tornadoes in the area. Death tolls have yet to be estimated, but state officials expect the loss of life and property to be staggering.”_

The Colt had demonstrated its uselessness against Lucifer, and Castiel could see that it was tearing Dean up inside in frustration and rage. Dean had barely managed to put a bullet in Lucifer before the devil realized that Sam wasn’t with them and lost total interest. Even then, they had all barely escaped with their lives.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” Bobby grunted. Dean’s hands were balled into fists. Castiel could understand his vexation. If Zachariah’s vision had even a grain of truth to it, it was astounding how much the future had deviated just by the virtue of Dean knowing that he would spend the next five years of his life looking for the Colt.

“I just don’t get it,” Dean seethed. “This ain’t the Secret; me thinking about the Colt isn’t why Crowley practically had it gift-wrapped for me. And, if what I saw in 2014 was just Heaven’s propaganda reel, Zach must’ve _known_ the Colt wouldn’t work so why lie?”

_ “I_ thought it would work,” Castiel reminded him quietly. Zachariah was above Castiel’s paygrade, as it were, but not by that much.

If anything, this granted more credence to the thought that what Dean had seen would never come to pass. But all the same, whatever Dean had witnessed—construction or not—clearly meant a lot to him. Dean’s jaw was clenched so hard around his frustration that his teeth were likely hurting. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said.

“Yeah, well…sorry don’t pay the bills,” Dean allowed with a sigh, massaging his temples. He spared a look at Cas. “Not like it’s your fault.” Cas frowned, feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t Dean’s fault either and he was shouldering it as though it were.

“Still, I—” Cas started, awkwardly. Jo cleared her throat. Dean glanced over to her as she walked into the living room, sitting next to Dean on the sofa.

“Okay, so we’re back to square one,” she said, somewhat energetic, glancing between him and Castiel. “The Colt’s a bust, but there’s gotta be more than one way to kill the devil. Or at least _one_ way.” She wasn’t content to lay down and feel poorly for herself. Like Dean, she wanted action, a goal to run towards.

“There is one way,” Castiel spoke up glumly, looking at Dean.

“Hell. No.” Dean said through gritted teeth. Castiel bristled a bit at his tone.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Jo asked.

“Dean and Sam each have a destiny to fulfill in a holy war,” Cas explained, smarting a little at Dean’s tone. “As you know, Dean is Michael’s true vessel, and Sam—Lucifer’s. In the final battle between good and evil, Dean and Sam would act as vessels, swords, to usher in the end of days. We are doing our best to evade that destiny,” he concluded, leaning in conspiratorially towards Jo. He noticed Dean glance up at him, with a strange shine in his eyes.

“Well, shit,” Jo uttered. “Wait, so is that why you and Sam…” she didn’t finish her sentence.

Dean cleared his throat. “Sam says yes to Lucifer,” he shrugged.

“How do you know that?” Jo gasped.

“We don’t,” Cas said firmly. Dean just laughed, bitter.

“We will in six months,” he replied. Jo’s gaze flickered between him and Castiel, trying to read something deeper behind what they were saying. And just then, Castiel began to hear a rise in chatter on the celestial frequency. It was loud.

_ Do we have him?_

_ Yes. He has consented; his soul should be back in his body in a matter of moments._

Who were they talking about?

“So, you’re mad at Sam for what he _might_ do?” Jo was asking Dean, her eyes narrow, disbelieving. Tempers were already short from the day they’d wasted, and Jo had always struck Castiel as equally as righteous as Dean, if not more so.

“I’m not—” Dean began, anger cutting him off. “I’m not _mad _at him. This isn’t—some kind of high school _drama,_ Jo. Sam’s a liability. The further away he stays from all this, the better. And the further I stay away from him…the better I’ll handle it when, _if_…” Dean’s explanation trailed.

_ Where is he?_

Someone had asked the question in Castiel’s stead. Was that Naomi? The tone was sharp.

“Yeah, you sure _sound_ like you’ll handle it better,” Jo nodded, folding her arms in sarcastic disbelief.

“Oh, shut up, Jo,” Dean sneered, body language hardening with defensiveness.

“Me and my mom almost died back there,” Jo’s voice raised, not willing to capitulate. “Do you really think we can afford not to have another hunter in our corner?” Pain started whistling low in Castiel’s skull. Something was happening. He got to his feet, doing his best not to stumble as the pain built.

“Sam’s not a hunter,” Dean said, voice cutting through the painful fog building in Castiel’s mind, agitated. “You _know_ what he did last year. He isn’t cut out for this life, and he _shouldn’t_ be.” Out of their line of sight, Castiel almost doubled over with the bizarre sensation that was flooding through him, a sense of recognition, a sense of wrongness. And just as it had claimed him, it receded, leaving Castiel clutching his head.

“Sam’s a _great_ hunter, you’re just _afraid_ of getting betrayed by him again,” Jo was yelling.

Dean slammed the counter with his fist. Jo startled but kept still and tense, face resolute. “You have _no idea_ what’s expected of me and Sam!” he shouted. Her jaw worked, eyes burning with fury. “What we have to do to each other because someone someday had a prophecy. You have _no_ right to tell me that I should beg him for him to come back, so that we can slaughter each other later when one of us cracks—”

_ It is true—Adam Milligan lives._

Dean’s voice cut off as Castiel transported himself ninety miles east to Windom, Minnesota. The chatter had become too insistent. Adam Milligan. Castiel knew little about Adam other than he was in the Winchester bloodline and that concerned him. If the angels were having dealings with him, that meant nothing good. They hadn’t asked for Castiel, despite Castiel’s previous experience with remaking vessels for revived souls. They did not trust him. It meant that this, whatever this was, did not bode well for the Winchesters.

There was a clearing in the woods…if Adam was buried here, it hadn’t been a Christian burial. Castiel stepped forward into the space. And then, that same sense of wrongness. Two angels, Castiel’s brothers, appeared from behind and aimed to kill him. He was faster, this time. And with surprising ease, he dispatched them both.

They were standard angels, from a garrison other than Castiel’s. No doubt sent to retrieve the boy for Heaven’s purposes, purposes Castiel could not trust and now purposes Castiel had clearly aligned himself against. Killing angels…what Castiel would do for the Winchesters was frightening but necessary. He turned back to the ground. He could feel the ground shift from where Adam was clawing to the surface.

Castiel returned to South Dakota with Adam cradled under his arm, unconscious as he’d panicked when he’d first seen Castiel. “Help,” Cas grunted against the weight. Jo and Dean seemed to have arrived at some agreement in Castiel’s absence, for they gladly jumped to their feet and worked together to assist Castiel with the man in his grasp, Jo cursing loudly all the way.

They brought the boy to rest in the other room, leaving dust and blood powdered on the cot. Dean eyed the boy’s dirty hands and bloody fingers, flexing his own. Castiel had not been there to raise Dean from the ground, having not yet found a vessel, but he knew Dean dug himself free from his own grave as well. Finally, Dean took the time to observe Adam’s face and his eyes widened.

Bobby, now awake, no doubt due to Dean and Jo’s argument and the chaos of Castiel’s return, emerged from the other room. “Who the hell’s this?” he grumbled, alarm cloaked in irritation. Dean licked his lips, glancing over at Bobby nervously. Adam Milligan was saved.


	3. February 2010

_February 2, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

On Earth, but more specifically with Dean and his allies, time travelled differently. That was humanity’s influence. As an infinite being in Heaven, time moved slowly, leisurely, disconnected but measured. On Earth, things were more frantic and, in that way, more meaningful. So much could be missed in a second. It made Castiel more appreciative of moments as they passed.

Most days, he still hunted for God. Obviously, his ventures had not yet borne fruit, but he persisted. It was better than the alternative. Castiel didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t have this hunt. Some thing, at some time, would give—he knew it. Castiel’s world had already irrevocably changed. Things would change once again.

There was a certain level of exhilaration to it, to chasing down a new destiny. Castiel had not been especially privy to the falling out between the archangels and had never directly known God either. But, these little chess pieces Castiel had had the good fortune to interfere with, had walked right off the board. And so, he marched with them.

Dean and Adam had begun to awkwardly move together. Dean had taken Adam on a hunt, as Adam bored easily in Bobby’s home, but there was a tension between the two brothers which no doubt stemmed from their shared father. Then again, everything was tense these days, especially Dean. He was stretched thin over the space in his life Sam left behind and it was evident.

“Damn it, Bobby,” Dean seethed. “You sent Sam off on a hunt?” It was a brisk evening outside, but colder in Nome where Castiel had flown from. Out of sentimentality, curiosity, and a sense of lonesomeness Castiel had dropped into Bobby’s living room unannounced.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on,” Bobby cut himself off, jerking his head towards the other room. “And, I’m sorry I don’t have the _mobility_ to be of much use in that regard.”

“So, I’m a babysitter now?” Dean hissed. “I didn’t spend my whole life watching over Sam just to adopt a new baby brother, who’s a whiny sack of shit—”

“He fits right in, don’t he?” Bobby bellowed back, matching Dean’s anger and raising. It was enough to make Dean acquiesce.

“Listen,” Adam spoke up from the doorway, likely having overheard the brunt of it. Dean and Bobby glanced at each other, guilty. “I get it. This isn’t some sort of glorified family get-together or charity case. I’m under house arrest.” He was accusatory.

“Yeah?” Dean said, not to be chastised. “Angels brought you back to roll out the apocalyptic red carpet. You gonna blame us for being clingy?”

“Listen, if I’m here, I want in,” Adam said, raising his voice. “I want to hunt, too. And not just that dumb witch case last week. Take the kid gloves off_._”

“Oh,” Dean crowed, skeptical. “So _now_ we’re toeing the party line?”

“I’m getting bored waiting to figure out what the angels want with me, or what you guys want with me,” Adam explained, youthful and frustrated. “I’m just…tired of this. Whatever this is. If I’m not in, then I want _out_.” His jaw clenched, eyes burning. “I want—I want to see Sam.”

There was a beat. “Listen, I’m not your boss,” Dean groused after the moment. “No one’s stopping you.”

“Though, perhaps we should,” Castiel interfered. The room turned to look at him, Bobby knocking over his drink, cursing loudly. They hadn’t noticed him listening in, evidently. Castiel felt awkward, given their reactions, but he pressed on—this needed to be said and understood.

“Michael and Lucifer are the—match and oil of the apocalypse,” he reminded Dean, explained to Adam. “The reason why you’re no longer speaking to your brother is because you two are their vessels, preordained to carry out that destiny.”

“I’m not their puppet,” Adam bristled. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Alright, everybody pipe down,” Bobby called out. “There’s no solving this tonight.” The tension in the room seemed to deflate with Bobby’s intervention. “We’re all…a little sick ‘n’ tired of each other. We’ll talk it over in the morning.” He raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “You plan on popping in?” he asked.

“I’ll be busy then,” Castiel said. He planned on combing through the Philippines and re-examining the continental United States one final time. Bobby rolled his eyes theatrically and grabbed a rag to sop up the drink he’d spilled. Castiel eyed Adam’s posture as he slunk his way out of the room. Bobby had made his point, but it struck Castiel as effective as a holding a bandage over a dam leak.

“Bobby,” Dean spoke up, still a little angry. “You send Sam on hunts and he gets stuck, or hopped up on hell juice, you let me know. You too,” he added, pointing his finger at Castiel. His jaw was clenched tight. “Me and Sam aren’t talking, but if he gets in a messy situation—that’s _my_ problem, not anyone else’s.”

Castiel opened his mouth, uncertain what to say. “Alright,” Bobby said, sounding tired. Dean turned his gaze on Cas, staring, and when Castiel nodded Dean leaned back, still dissatisfied but more relaxed. There was nothing more for Castiel here.

“My apologies for frightening you, Bobby,” he offered, spreading his wings, preparing to take his leave. The last thing he heard as he returned to his hunt was a bark of surprised laughter from Dean.

_February 4, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Anna had clawed her way out of Heaven and into Dean’s dreams. Dean had trusted Castiel with this knowledge, allowing Cas to speak to her before making any hasty decisions. He was grateful for this. Dean and Anna had some history with each other, which Castiel did not understand, and Dean was sentimental to a fault. They were only fortunate that Dean trusted him over Anna.

Castiel suspected that Heaven had set her free for a new mission, promising a release from her torment. They would also likely reward her with a restoration to her original rank once she succeeded (the title of Captain that Castiel had inherited after her fall and lost again when he sided with Dean). The mission was simple, and one that Castiel could even understand—kill Sam Winchester to rob Lucifer of his vessel. Castiel couldn’t allow it to come to fruition. And so Anna transported herself to Kansas in 1978, to pluck her problem at the roots.

The relationship between Castiel and his family was strained. He kept making decisions that aligned him against them so they, understandably, aligned themselves against him. As a result, he hadn’t seen Anna’s approach and he had limited his access to Heaven but, as an angel, there were certain things they could not take from him. He couldn’t remake Bobby Singer’s body, for example, but he could escort himself through space, through time.

At Dean’s insistence, Castiel had delivered him and Adam to Lawrence, chasing Anna. The trip had drained Castiel almost entirely, leaving him unconscious for the majority of his stay there. Once he’d gathered the strength to transport himself back he did so, promptly passing out again. It had been happening more frequently recently—Castiel overextending his powers on the Winchester’s behalf.

When Castiel finally awakened, he tried to get to his feet and failed spectacularly. He could hardly move his legs, vision bleary, and he felt exhaustion in every fibre and tendon in his vessel. His Grace would have to recharge. He loathed this preview of what was to come if Lucifer won.

Dean had set Castiel up on a bed in a motel room, and paying his stay for a few nights if the calendar was to be believed. With his tail between his legs, Castiel had returned to Sioux Falls for answers. An angel seeking counsel from humans…it would be humorous, ironic, if it wasn’t utterly demoralizing.

It was long past dinner when Castiel arrived, but he hadn’t needed to wake the household. The occupants were cast listlessly about the place, and Dean was all too willing to answer Castiel’s questions for a change. Castiel hated having to ask, being vulnerable and uninformed and feeling like he had played the fool, but he had no one else that could answer these questions for him.

“Michael told us, basically uh—basically it’s me or him,” Dean said, indicating Adam, who was standing stock-still at the window, with a jerk of his head. “That that’s why they brought Adam back. For back up.”

“That’s what they told me when they raised me,” Adam confessed. “But can they even do that?” he asked, looking to Castiel. “The amount of work that went into setting up your parents, Dean, to have you and Sam. Can I actually fulfill the prophecy?”

Castiel thought it over. “Dean is the Michael Sword, but you are also Michael’s vessel,” he said. He looked at Dean, who had now seen Michael for the first time, and evidently rejected him. “It’s not perfect but it’s possible.” The breadth of Adam’s shoulders slumped down, like some air had been knocked from him.

“I hate angels,” Adam mumbled to himself.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you’re telling me.” Cas tried not to take it personally. And then Adam did the most bizarre thing. He smiled; a break from his usual sourness.

“Hey, go get some sleep,” Dean said gruffly, a hint of warmth in his eyes. “We don’t gotta make any decisions tonight. We got time.” He and Dean had seemed to have come to an understanding being sent to the past. Perhaps seeing their father or the machinations of war had inspired fraternity in them.

“I don’t know,” Adam said, dissatisfied, pulling away. “I think…I think I better talk to Sam.”

Dean’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Seriously?” he asked, sitting up in his seat. “You _just_ got told that you and him are gonna have a showdown, and now you’re fixin’ to be BFFs?”

“Night Dean,” Adam said pointedly, indicating that the discussion was over. Dean looked like he wanted to argue some more but Adam was already gone.

“I swear these two got along for just a moment while you were out,” Bobby said loudly to Castiel. “Blinked, and you could’ve missed it, but it happened.” Castiel could afford to take Bobby at his word.

“Where is Anna?” he asked.

“She got away,” Dean replied, turning away from the door Adam had just passed through. “But, she’s not going after Sam anymore.”

“And how do you know that?” Bobby spoke up, voicing what Castiel had been wondering.

“Big Brother,” Dean said, indicating heavenwards. “We got someone up top looking out for us.” Michael.

“So,” Castiel realized, with a flash of guilt tainting his admiration. “She _was_ working against Heaven.” Not long after he and Dean had first met they had brought Castiel up to Heaven for re-education, thinking he had started to feel too much for the humans in his charge. He hadn’t thought it possible to breach Heaven. He had always failed.

“Cas, do you…do you think she has a point?” Dean asked quietly. He meant if killing one of the required vessels would prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled. Cas thought.

“It would never work,” he decided. “She might have thought that killing Lucifer would be possible because demons don’t have access to the universe the way Heaven does but…it’s clear that Heaven has a vested interest in seeing the Apocalypse through.” Cas swallowed his disappointment. “They would protect Lucifer as well.”

“What the _hell,_ Cas,” Dean grumbled. “Your bosses _suck.”_

“I’m fairly certain, by this point, I’ve been fired,” Castiel said, successfully keeping up with the metaphor and giving Dean a sidelong glance. He could see Dean smirk, an appreciative look in his eye.

“Here’s to being your own boss, then,” he said, voice low. Castiel felt a flush of anxiety in his chest. But he couldn’t help it. He felt himself smile, just slightly. Dean coaxed it out of him. He turned his head away.

“Well, I’m turnin’ in,” Bobby announced.

“Night, Bobby,” Dean called. He didn’t make any move to follow him. And his eyes were still on Castiel. “How you feelin’, Cas?” His concern was thoughtful.

“Disoriented,” Castiel admitted. He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “Tired. I’ll recover soon enough.” It wouldn’t take him long. Dean still seemed shaken by the journey, though it probably had little to do with the time travel itself. “This must have been a bizarre experience for you,” Cas murmured.

“It was…weird seeing my mom and dad again,” Dean confessed. “I thought—I thought I’d be able to…save her.”

“You know you can’t,” Cas replied, opening his eyes. They’d been through this before.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, quiet. “I still tried.” Castiel nodded. He wouldn’t have expected anything less. “You know, funniest thing,” Dean spoke up after awhile. “When I got the chance, I asked her if she thought she’d be having a boy or a girl.”

“Of course, she would have a son,” Castiel said. “She—” he caught the look in Dean’s eye. “She knew, I take it?”

“Said she could feel it,” Dean said. He sounded pleased. He broke off, insecure, “I mean, I know it doesn’t mean anything but…”

“It means something,” Castiel understood. Dean lips pulled into a wry smile, expression soft. 

“Yeah,” he said, with an almost self-deprecating sense of shyness. He had become so gentle, seeing his mother again, for however brief it had been, for however shadowed by violence. Statically speaking, Castiel understood perhaps a third of what Dean said with absolute confidence, thanks to Dean’s colourful sense of language and his unwillingness to speak plainly to Castiel. But, Castiel understood Dean in the broad strokes, and perhaps that was enough.

What had always struck Castiel about Dean was his incredible, Godless virtue. His fierce devotion to a mission of good, without needing to be _told_ what was good, and in fact _bucking_ against instruction. Even now, Castiel didn’t know what had so fascinated him with Dean to begin with, Dean _was _the righteous man, they had met under those conditions. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

But he was. The way Dean moved through this world, as small as he was in the scheme of things, working to shift it all to something safer, better. A modest lever and pivot resting beneath the weight of the world. Through his own strength of will Dean had…he had tried his best. He would continue to do so.

There was something to be said about the way Dean loved. His capacity for it. Despite all that had happened to him, trauma foisted onto him, all he had lost. He loved with few reservations—the world, his family. It showed itself in the people he would help, even now. Of all the horrors Dean had witnessed, it seemed that there was still good worth fight for.

Quietly, they sat together and recovered.

_February 14, 2010 – Hanniger, Pennsylvania_

When Cas had phoned Dean to inform him that Sam and Famine were in the same town, he’d spoken to him between bites of burger, nearly moaning into the receiver. Dean had wished him a happy Valentine’s day, some attempt at a crass joke, but any good humour he might have had vanished when Castiel told him the truth of the situation.

Adam and Dean had been hunting a banshee while Sam had been stumbling onto yet another Horseman, and Castiel had scarcely managed to transport them to Pennsylvania in time for Sam to escape his cuffs, fall prey to his desires for demon blood, and go after Famine himself. Dean and Adam’s timing had been impeccable in that sense, but Sam was wholly lost.

After much brutality, Famine fell, and with that Castiel felt his lust drain away. Sam was not so lucky. Cas took the opportunity to transport Sam, bloody-mouthed, to the Harvelle house. It was a poor time for them, and they were irritated and in varying states of undress, but they took to the task. Their basement, like most basements of hunters, was multipurpose and, between the two of them, they locked Sam up, with the promise to notify Castiel of his condition.

Back in Pennsylvania, Castiel was greeted by the carnage. Adam looked over the ring, and then, rather stupidly given its origins, slid it on one of his fingers like it were a trophy. Given that Famine was dead, it likely was. “What?” Adam asked, defensive at the look Dean gave him in response. Wearing Famine’s ring had not transferred any undue power to the boy. “I think it looks cool.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“You’ll outgrow that,” he informed him, glancing over at Castiel, unimpressed with his brother. Adam scowled at him.

“I’ll be outside,” he sulked, leaving Castiel and Dean alone. Dean’s posture seemed to collapse in on itself without Adam to observe it. He looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel spoke up, a little ashamed. He had spent so much of his time focused on his meal, Jimmy’s enjoyment of food had been so greatly enhanced Castiel had wondered if this simple but undeniable pleasure was what the angels had been missing all this time. He’d been arrogant, tied to base desires. He’d cost them time. He remembered, “Dean, the banshee—”

“We got it,” Dean cut him off, voice hard, no patience for anything Castiel had to say. Castiel closed his mouth, feeling parts offended and parts concerned. But he wouldn’t take it personally. It wasn’t personal.

Dean had stood wholly unaffected by Famine’s influence, even while Adam had started to cave, nearly praying to Michael to inform them of their location, so eager to return to Heaven, to his mother. It had been a heavy blow. And then, of course, Sam…Dean was chewing on some words and at last he said, “Jesus. I mean, demon blood, really?” He seemed to be in denial.

“Your brother will recover soon enough,” Castiel began, knowing that Sam had done so in the past and would be committed to doing so again. “Then he’ll be—”

“Can you just take me back to the car?” Dean broke in, begging. “Me and Adam?”

Dean hadn’t bowed to Famine’s will, which to Castiel belied a type of strength though Dean seemed seconds from caving in. Castiel didn’t want to leave Dean alone as he got the impression that the moment he left, Dean would pursue some sort of self-destructive end. Castiel nodded. He had fallen behind in his quest for God, anyhow. He could waste more of his time on the brothers.

_February 20, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

The recovery for Sam was slow, painful, but Ellen assured Bobby, and by extension Castiel, that it was proceeding and that helping him wasn’t a burden. In some ways, Dean was having a harder time coping with what had happened. Sam’s failure and Adam’s near capitulation to Heaven weighed heavily on him.

He hadn’t taken a day off, spending most of his days at Bobby’s house, pouring over literature related to a human organization they were hoping could help them. Castiel returned to his mission, this time also looking for any sign of Anna. He wanted to speak to her…discover her motivations, how she had broken free. But Castiel simply wasn’t good at finding people, apparently.

Dean’s prayer had been impatient, sarcastic, irreverent all at once. Castiel had been following a promising lead in Pakistan when Dean had demanded Castiel return ‘home.’ Bobby’s house did serve as a base of operations of sorts and broadcasting Bobby’s location to anyone from Heaven listening in, for they _were_ listening in, wasn’t wise—though that didn’t stop Dean from listing every curse word in the English language in his prayer.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, appearing in Bobby’s living room, hoping his irritation came across. He wasn’t a dog to be whistled for at Dean’s whim.

“That—that _kid,_ that little piece of—” Dean said, unintelligible.

“Adam stole the damn car,” Bobby cut Dean off, irritated. “Disappeared into his room after dinner, lit off, we didn’t notice till now.”

“So, I’m to act as your valet?” Castiel asked, unimpressed, stepping forward into Dean’s space. This was beyond childish. Castiel had been draining himself in his hunt for God and this—_t__his_ is what Dean found fit to call him on?

“Listen, you don’t _touch_ my baby,” Dean started on threatening, evidently too angry to be intimidated by Castiel. “You strap on your wings, and you find Adam, and you bring me to him. I’m going to kick that kid’s scrawny ass myself!”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Castiel replied, fixing Dean with a look he hoped was enough to convey his disdain with the whole situation.

“Cas, don’t you dare,” Dean started, eyes widening with realization. _“Don’t you fu—”_

Castiel left Dean behind in Sioux Falls. And reappeared in the passenger’s seat of the Impala, marvelling at how exhausting humans were.. He turned his head. The car was parked comfortably in the heart of Nebraska, and there was no one in the driver’s seat.

But, the trunk was popped and Castiel transported himself beside it. Jo was elbows deep in the bowels of the Impala and she jumped in place when she noticed Castiel. “Jeez, Cas!” she complained, punching him ineffectually in the shoulder. “Give a girl some warning next time, huh?”

“I’ll try,” Castiel offered. Jo bobbed her head, perhaps a little awkwardly.

“Adam dropped by,” she said conversationally. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re here.” She patted her hands on her jeans. “Mom called Bobby and we did all the tests but…I’m always a little paranoid now.” Castiel squinted. He could sense Adam’s presence in the kitchen.

“It’s him,” Castiel confirmed.

“Are you going to drag him back to Bobby’s now?” Jo asked.

“If your mother is willing to watch over him, I think it might be best to leave him here,” Castiel said. “At least until Dean stops threatening him with bodily harm.” Jo snickered.

“Yeah, mom’s fine with Adam crashing. I’ve just been raiding the trunk since I got the chance,” Jo said. “Dean’s got a lot of weird stuff back here.” She clearly wanted to discuss it, but Castiel didn’t have any frame of reference. “Like, _weird _stuff. I think I’ll take a shower after this.” 

“Where’s Sam?” Castiel asked.

“Sam is,” Jo cleared her throat. “Sam’s still on lockdown from what happened with Famine.” Castiel nodded. “Adam’s asleep, I think. He was pretty exhausted by the time he got here, I don’t think he ever drove so far in his life. Don’t tell Dean this, but I’m pretty sure Adam never got his driver’s licence.”

“I won’t,” Castiel promised her solemnly. She grinned up at him.

“I figured we oughta keep these rings together,” Jo went on, holding up War’s ring, and indicating Famine’s, fitted around her index. Again, discomfort lurched in Cas’s chest to see the rings displayed so intimately, knowing that the wearer could be infused with the ring’s abilities but it seemed that it needn’t be a concern. “Want ‘em?”

“I’ve got something of a target on my back.” Or rather, around his neck. He reached out to close her fingers around the ring in her palm. “Keep them safe.” She nodded thoughtfully.

“Want a beer?” she offered, closing the trunk of Dean’s car. An offer of hospitality.

“I came for the car,” he said, a little apologetically. Castiel glanced back at her house and saw Adam peer beneath the curtain at him, before he let the curtain fall, hiding. “I may want to speak to Adam, though,” Castiel amended. “At least to tell him that, while Dean may have put a bounty on his head, I’ve not come to collect.”

“That works,” Jo smiled. She walked Castiel up the front steps. It was a small house, with an uneven level of care put into it. The paint of the fence outside as well as the wooden boards comprising the porch was cracking, fraying, leaving little flecks of white and blue dotting the yard. There was also little work put into the garden, such things were difficult to maintain. It might have been cared for, once.

The interior, Castiel found, was well-loved. The foundations of the house were poor, but every spare space of it was painted over with some type of memory. Childhood pictures and photographs, various awards, other sentimentalities. And then, the practicalities as well. Salt on every window. A crucifix in every room. Sigils decorating the walls. Castiel could recognize Sam’s hand to them. Castiel couldn’t make it much farther than the doorway.

“Are you going to take me back?” Adam asked, wandering into the main hall, shoulders hunched as though he was prepared to put his hands up.

Castiel’s eyes wandered the room before settling on Adam. “Have you met Sam, yet?” he asked, neutral. And then Castiel heard it. The yells. The screaming.

“No,” Adam said simply. A muscle in his jaw flexed.

“Mom’s down there with him now,” Jo said. She shot Adam an apologetic look. “When he comes back down, he’ll be different. He’s a nice guy, really. Nicer than Dean, at any rate.” Adam looked at Castiel for confirmation. Cas nodded.

“So, this is my family, huh?” Adam asked as Sam bellowed like an injured animal in the other room. Castiel felt incredibly awkward, but also somewhat defensive. He settled on taking his seat next to Adam. He couldn’t leave Adam alone, especially when it was clear that he was having doubts.

“Sam is an—addict,” Castiel explained, though ‘abomination’ had been on the tip of his tongue. “Able to harness the power of demon blood. It’s a component of his being Lucifer’s vessel. Given how corrupt and powerful Lucifer is, his vessel must be sustained through external means as it can’t draw upon Heaven’s power the way…the way Michael’s vessels are able to.”

Jo was listening, rapt. “I know what the Angels told me, Castiel, but it seems to me that the angels specifically set out to make John and Mary have kids,” Adam said. They had. “Like _my_ mom had never factored in at all.” He wasn’t incorrect.

“It’s immaterial,” Castiel replied. “Neither Sam nor Dean want to wage Heaven’s battles.”

“You don’t need destiny to tell you what to do,” Jo said. “You can still help.”

“Maybe, maybe I don’t want to help,” Adam said, each word stilted like he had to force them out one by one. “I was dead. I was with my mom. I want my mom back. I don’t _know_ Dean. I don’t know _Sam_. I didn’t ask for any of this,” he went on, becoming more agitated as he went. “I didn’t ask for the—for the fate of the planet to be put on my shoulders.”

Castiel turned away, feeling regretful. There was little he could do to commiserate with Adam. “You would be better off asking Dean about how to deal with that,” he said. “You would be better off asking Sam.” Adam stared at Castiel a moment, a stubborn set to his jaw, and then he looked away, wilting.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

“Don’t hesitate to contact Bobby or myself,” Castiel said. “Have a good night, Adam.” There was nothing Castiel could say to insist Adam onto the right path. Adam nodded.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s lost a parent, right?” Jo began to ask, her voice dangerously quiet, as Castiel took his leave. “In fact, your father _killed_ my—” was certainly not the beginning of a conversation Castiel felt the need to be part of.

_February 20, 2010 – Broken Bow, Nebraska_

He found himself back Sioux Falls just seconds later. “Cas, you dick, where did you—” Dean started once he noticed Castiel and Castiel gripped his shoulder, bringing him to the Impala. Dean nearly fell over. Castiel couldn’t blame him, but didn’t feel particularly sympathetic either. “Where the hell are we?” Dean blustered, righting himself.

“Jo and Ellen’s home.” Dean looked it over, like he’d never seen it before. Dean had been all across the country, even this state, but never here.

“Looks lived in,” he snorted. It sounded unkind, derisive. Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean had to scoff about it, he was, by all literal senses of the term, homeless himself. Dean was angry, still. “My piece of shit little brother here?” he asked, just the one thought on his mind.

“Both of your brothers,” Castiel spoke up. That stopped Dean in his step. With the threat of Sam, Castiel knew he need not worry that Dean would approach the house. Both Dean and Sam danced around each other, as if by the simple act of avoiding one another they could avoid destiny itself. Perhaps they could. Dean turned around.

“Right,” he said. “Thought you were gonna zap the car back,” he said to Castiel, sounding sheepish.

“I’m cut off from Heaven,” Castiel replied. “My Grace is still depleted.” It was different, transporting others versus just transporting himself. When it was just him, he could slip within dimensions in a unique way, but between all the meddling he’d been doing on Earth he needed time to recharge and bring Dean this far had exhausted him. He sighed. “I’m going to ride back with you, if that’s alright.”

“What?” Dean asked, surprised. Castiel didn’t want to talk about it. Inhabiting this form as solidly as he had been and travelling as far as he had for as long as he had…he was tired. He got into the passenger’s side.

“Anyway, glad you didn’t,” Dean said, picking up the conversation once he entered the Impala, stroking his hand across his dashboard and fretting when he had to adjust the rear-view mirror. “Woulda kicked _your_ ass, too.”

“It’s just transporting molecules, Dean,” Castiel said, feeling irritable and leaning back in his seat. “I remade _you,_ once.” With the power of Heaven, but Dean didn’t need to know that information. Castiel also couldn’t say if he’d done a perfect job but he could trust that, at the very least, Dean was just as aggravating as he’d ever been.

“Whatever, think I prefer people-making the old-fashioned way anyhow,” Dean said, giving Cas a quick grin. That took some of the bite out of their previous banter. Dean had very white teeth. Castiel closed his eyes.

Dean fretted some more over the state of his car, giving Castiel the impression that if he _had_ moved the Impala back to Sioux Falls himself Dean would’ve been too paranoid to drive it before taking it apart and putting it back together again. But eventually, Dean settled, started the engine and Castiel made himself comfortable on the passenger’s side.

If Castiel was to be honest, and he thought perhaps it would be good for him to try, he’d simply felt the urge to see Dean again. It would have cost him perhaps as much to bring the Impala back to Sioux Falls, and certainly would have saved time but Castiel’s impulse had been to fetch Dean instead. They were in the beginnings of a holy battle, but it seemed Castiel had chosen his loyalties without even knowing.

_February 24, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

“Why have you called me here?” Castiel asked. It was not a question he could have asked his previous superiors, if you could consider Bobby and Dean as such, but he had the freedom to do so now and would.

“We’ve been in talks with an organization in Britain,” Bobby explained. “Called the Men of Letters. They’ve got some tools in their arsenal that might be of some use for killing the Devil. You know anything about them?”

“Do you really think some human organization knows about a weapon capable of killing Lucifer that the angels do not?” Castiel asked.

“You think the archangels are walking around giving everyone the destruct code?” Dean shot back. Castiel gritted his teeth but conceded. There was much Castiel had never been taught, never been told. It was just as well.

“What is it you need me for?” he asked.

“Well, it’s across the pond. Fortunately, we’ve got our very own messenger boy now,” Bobby spoke up, indicating Castiel with his glass. “Saves on plane tickets.” Castiel stiffened. Then he raised an eyebrow.

“If I’m to be your errand boy,” he said, and he felt the words come out more growled than grateful, “brief me properly.” These men fought, but they weren’t soldiers.

“Dean’ll go with you,” Bobby said, unworried but stern. “See the situation through.”

“To the old country?” Dean spoke up, apprehensive. “Uh, not really a fan of flying, Bobby.” Dean had never left the United States , much less the continent. And Castiel knew he’d never been comfortable with any sort of…space travel, for lack of a better term, preferring his Impala over all things.

“Christ, _fine,_ I’ll go with the feathery bastard,” Bobby grumbled. “I was the one talking to the Brits to begin with. Just don’t forget my chair,” he instructed Castiel, and to Dean he said, “You can sit pretty.”

“Hey now,” Dean said, getting to his feet, bristling.

“I will observe the Men of Letters alone,” Castiel said, tiring. “Tell me their location, and I will work from there.” Dealing with Bobby and Dean’s orders was one thing, dealing with either of them was another.

“Screw that,” Dean started up again. “What if they trap you or something?” Castiel turned his eye on Dean. He expected the Men of Letters would have precautions against angels, but currently he didn’t much care. 

“If that’s the case, at least I’ll be free from your useless bickering.” Dean set his shoulders, offended, and Bobby chuckled inexplicably.

Just then, Dean’s phone rang, and he reached to answer it. “Adam?” Dean asked into the receiver

_ “Yeah,”_ Castiel could hear Adam’s voice came out tinny on the other line. _“I uh, think you should come to Ellen’s. Something weird’s going on and Sam’s out. He didn’t really tell me where he was going.”_ That seemed to cause Dean some distress. _“Said he should be back Friday.”_

Dean unclenched his jaw to speak. “Okay, and?”

_ “And Jo’s acting weird,”_ Adam said. _“Jo and Ellen. They’re…I was going to help paint the house, but they were acting really cagey and Jo took me to a hotel. I think something…bad is going on. And I know that’s kind of your wheelhouse.”_

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Dean said. “I’ll be there tomorrow, round noon.” Dean hung up and cast a look at Bobby. “Change of plans, Bobby.”

“We could be there faster,” Castiel offered.

“Told you, Cas,” Dean grunted, because he didn’t like flying. He gave Castiel a bizarre little wink. “I like doing things the old-fashioned way.”

Which was how, after a gruff goodbye to Bobby, Cas ended up in the passenger’s side of Dean’s car, trying to pick out a cassette. “I swear any of them will do, Cas, just pick one,” Dean was saying as he drove them along.

“I don’t know which one is good,” Cas said fretfully, looking at the strange names on their labels. Led Zeppelin, Motorhead, Blue Oyster Cult. The bands Dean liked seemed to take pride in naming themselves as randomly as they could manage.

“They’re _my _tapes,” Dean said. “They’re all good.” He sighed, and grumbled to himself, “Never should’ve offered.” Cas found a tape—titled with just an ordinary name—and he carefully fed it into the slot.

Presently, the music picked up, singing about America and pie, two things Dean adored but once the song switched to the next Dean became vaguely irritated. “Damn, how did that even get in here?” he grumbled, fitful.

“I like it,” Castiel admitted mildly. The singer was singing about stars. Dean groused some more but he didn’t change the music until after they paused for gas between the Missouri River and Hartington.

_February 25, 2010 – Broken Bow, Nebraska_

They arrived outside Jo and Ellen’s house sometime midday, and things had rapidly deteriorated from there. The entire town had been affected by the Pale Horseman, Death, raising the spirits of their loved ones. It was just as well that Castiel had spent some time with Dean when he’d received the call, for without a doubt he would have been called to his aid in this situation.

Castiel felt, in a sense, that Dean reached out to Castiel where he could not reach out to his brother, to fill the blank spaces Sam left. Castiel did not like being relegated from an angelic warrior to Sam’s shadow but he liked, for whatever reason, being with Dean and that was usually enough for him to bear it. Dean was an admirable man, and his company was often enjoyable. Given how unsuccessful Castiel’s quest for God was going he welcomed the change in scenery.

Being with Dean, forced Castiel to confront something much deeper than he was usually privy to. This time, mourning. Mourning of the long dead. Ellen’s husband, Jo’s father, William Harvelle, had been among the spirits to rise. He had fit right in among the household as though he had never left and they had wanted to protect that. When he had turned, because the townspeople turned, Ellen had been forced to end his life herself. She came outside her bedroom, grabbed a bottle of liquor and sat at the kitchen table, silent.

Dean had little to say to her. It had been a difficult day, he and Jo were both somewhat subdued from the horrors they had seen. Dean had gotten a little injured in a confrontation with another dead soul earlier that day, something Cas had been able to help with, but he wasn’t able to help with this. Ellen, having explained the situation to Dean, lapsed into a haunted silence once more.

“I—I am sorry for your loss,” Castiel offered, voice stiff. A shocked laugh bubbled from Ellen. She was looking at Castiel with wet eyes, a bit bemused.

“Don’t be,” she said, settling. “We’ve had…plenty of time to adjust.” She looked over at her daughter; Jo’s jaw clenched.

“Still I—” Cas said, throat welling uncomfortably, inexplicably. He’d seen how grief had affected Sam and Dean. It was not something that could be overcome ever, not entirely.

“We got dealt a shit hand in that regard,” Ellen allowed, leaning back in her seat and fixing Cas with a cool gaze. “Doesn’t mean I regret playing.” Castiel nodded, feeling something snag in his chest. She was wise. “William—William told me why Death came here,” she spoke up again, this time to Dean. “To Nowhere, Nebraska—he had a message for you, and wanted me to give it.”

“Why you?” Dean asked. His voice was rough, not confrontational, just frayed by stress.

“Because I’ve been helping Sam keep his head on straight,” Ellen said through gritted teeth. “Because I’ve been looking out for you boys.” She glanced at Adam, too, who straightened his posture under her eye. “They wanted me and Jo to give up, turn against you. Nearly did.” Dean flinched, but he kept his gaze steady on Ellen.

“What was the message?” Castiel spoke up. They had to keep the conversation relevant. Ellen turned to look at him, and then back to her daughter.

“Dad said there’s a way,” Jo answered, shifting in her seat. “For Sam to get possessed by Lucifer and not have things go sideways.”

“Not possible,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Dean,” Ellen snapped. Dean ducked his head. Ellen’s voice was tight, and there were tears in her eyes, glittering but not falling. “I spoke to Bill myself. And it _was _Bill. And now, I don’t know what he meant by that, but that’s what he said.”

“He said something about these rings,” Jo spoke up, holding up her hand. The Horsemen’s rings glinted in the low light of the kitchen.

“Ellen…” Dean said carefully, raising his hands. “Jo…”

“Don’t you _dare,_ Dean Winchester,” Ellen started, anger setting in fast and thick in her voice.

“I’m not saying anything,” Dean said. “But come on, if it was me? And my, and my dad suddenly came back? If my _mom_ came back?”

Ellen got to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair. “I just shot my _husband,”_ she said. “My daughter’s father.”

“Ellen, please,” Dean begged. She was shaking, but she turned away.

“I need another damn drink,” she muttered.

“Everyone’s been telling me and Sam to suit up,” Dean said, and the apology was clear in his voice. “And I mean _everyone_. But, I _saw_ in the future. Sam said yes, and the world fell apart. And I believe that was Bill, I do. Don’t understand it, but I trust you. But come on, he knows even less about the situation than we do.”

“In the future, did you say yes?” Ellen asked.

“Of course not,” Dean said.

And Ellen replied, “Maybe that was the problem.” Dean recoiled like he’d been struck.

_February 25, 2010 – Broken Bow, Nebraska_

Despite Ellen and Dean’s argument, Ellen had insisted Dean spend the night. Castiel, tired from the battle, had also elected to loiter. They all were congregated downstairs where Jo was doing dishes. “So,” Dean said, sucking on his teeth. “You and my baby brother, huh?” Jo didn’t react physically. “C’mon,” he needled. “I saw the way you two were lookin’ at each other.”

“So _nothing,”_ Jo spoke up defensively. She washed the dishes so roughly foam splattered onto the counter. She was still shaken up from the events of the day, but she seemed to welcome the topic. “And he’s hardly your brother, you two barely know each other.”

“He’s nineteen, you know,” Dean said, nudging her with his arm, as though they’d never had age between themselves. “Cradle robber.”

“Shut up!” she said, punching him decisively in the shoulder with her wet glove, Dean yelping defensively. There was a flush to her cheeks, however. “It’s not like that.” She didn’t sound like even she believed the words herself.

“How has,” Dean said, clearing his throat, changing the course of the conversation. He picked up a dishcloth and nudged her with his hip to make room, reaching into the water to pick up a plate. “How has Sam been?” Because he couldn’t resist it, apparently. Castiel looked away.

“Sam’s been fine, Dean,” Jo spoke up. “We’re—” she seemed to bite down her words. “How are you and Bobby?” If there was something to be caught in her hesitation, Dean didn’t catch it.

“Listen, Sam can visit Bobby, you know,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t take him in the divorce.” Jo’s answering smile was crooked and sad.

“I hope you two know what you’re doing,” she said, joining the ranks of most of the people involved in the brothers’ fallout.

“Me, Bobby, and Cas have been looking into ways to kill the Devil,” Dean said, almost to make conversation, scratching at something on the glass in his hand. “I ran into some hunter out south awhile back. You’d like her, she kicked ass.” He rinsed the glass and set it to dry.

“That _is_ what I need to like a woman,” Jo said dryly. Dean squinted at her like he wasn’t certain if she was joking. He moved on.

“She knows some people who know some people,” Dean said. “Brits. Some organization that’s been doing this for a long time, lot longer than us at any rate. They might know some stuff.”

“So, they might know stuff,” Jo acknowledged. She sounded skeptical, but not in a way that came off as an attack. She wanted to believe him.

“Yeah,” Dean said, drying the glass in his grasp. He didn’t sound convinced either.

“Keep us posted, you know?” Jo said, pressing her hip against him. She glanced over her shoulder at Castiel as well, eyes wide and earnest. Castiel looked away. He shouldn’t have been there to begin with. “We’ve all been looking,” she said.

“That include Sam?” Dean asked, a hard edge to his voice. “That why he’s out?” Jo didn’t say anything. “Sam doesn’t have to worry about this shit. We’re taking care of it.”

“Yeah,” Jo agreed, smiling crookedly. “But he’s Sam. So…he does worry.” She sounded almost apologetic.

“Listen…” Dean spoke up. “About what happened.”

“Dean, I’m sorry my mom said those things,” Jo said. “It’s just been a tough day and—”

“I mean about the rings,” Dean said. Jo took off her gloves, setting them to rest in the thin plastic washbasin. She rotated her wrist, the bands catching the light.

“Do you want them?”

“I’m good,” Dean thanked her. A band of skin paler than the rest on the ring finger of his right hand became apparent as he explained, “I kind of lost the jewelry last year.” Castiel hadn’t noticed until Dean had indicated its absence, but Dean had used to wear a ring there. 

“Sure,” Jo said, not wholly receptive to whatever Dean meant by it. She may not even have noticed that he’d taken off his ring, his watch, his trappings. In a way, Castiel could see he was putting away his childish things, his tokens of youth, and of course it was none of Castiel’s business. It just struck him as bizarre, but then he didn’t know Dean as well as Jo and she seemed unaffected.

“Jo, don’t you think it’s funny,” Dean went on. “That literally every person we ask tells us that there’s no point in fighting this. That Sam not only is going to say yes to the friggin’ devil, but that he _should_ say yes?” Dean asked. “And then, the Horsemen, you know, two down two to go, just _happens_ to say the same thing?”

“I think dad meant there’s a way we can use these to avoid all that,” Jo said softly.

“Maybe,” Dean said. He sounded exhausted. “Sounds like a hell of a longshot and like a guy called Death maybe, just _maybe_ has a vested interest in how the end of the world turns out.”

“Maybe,” Jo agreed without agreeing.

“I just don’t trust that we’re ever gonna get a clear answer from these guys,” Dean pressed, frustrated. “All me and Sam have to do is keep saying no, and keep fighting to stop Lucifer. Lucifer is never gonna be as strong in whatever vessel he’s in now as he’s going to be in Sam and we just gotta,” Dean took a breath. “We just gotta keep truckin’. We got handed the Colt, that was a bust. But we can’t listen to them, Jo. I can’t.”

“Yeah,” Jo said in a small voice. “I get it.” She leaned into an embrace, pressing herself close against Dean. Dean froze for a moment, then leaned in, dumping his dishtowel in the sink to hold her properly.

After a moment, he teased, “Oh, now you’re interested,” dragging her in closer still. Castiel averted his gaze. They’d forgotten him. “My lil bro’s upstairs, Jo.” Dean’s voice was low.

“Douche!” Jo shot back, punching him soundly in what sounded like his stomach. She seemed annoyed, but not necessarily angry.

“Ouch, watch the brass knuckles, sweetheart,” Dean laughed, letting her pull away. Castiel chanced a look back. Jo was staring up at Dean now, not entirely out of his space, expression soft and caring. And Dean was looking back. Not pulling away, or glancing off, or clearing his throat. His hand was on Jo’s wrist. And as gentle as Jo looked, Dean was all the more gentle. Like he had melted beneath her kindness, ready and willing to do so. He hadn’t even put up a fight.

Really, Castiel should’ve taken his leave quietly. He’d done it in the past. Left with a gust of wind in his place. That could’ve come off as childish, perhaps even humorous. Unlike what Castiel actually did. He stood, so suddenly and instinctually, that he nearly knocked the glass by his elbow over, clearing his throat awkwardly and clearing the room. Jo and Dean shied away from each other, remembering themselves.

Castiel didn’t remark on their flirting, regardless of how idle it was or was not. Perhaps they could all pretend that he didn’t know enough about humanity, about Dean, to recognize it when he saw it. He walked upstairs, like a human, feeling each step in the stretch of his thighs. Jo and Dean could do whatever they wished.


	4. April 2010

_April 1, 2010 – Heaven_

Castiel split his time between the brothers and his quest. Dean and Bobby had redoubled their efforts into looking into the Men of Letters, and a short visit to England had paid off. There were a few weapons that could possibly be used against the Devil and while the Men of Letters at large hadn’t been hugely interested in surrendering them there had been some members with sympathy for the cause.

By and large, the group was elitist and naïve, many of them held skepticism over whether or not the Apocalypse would truly come to pass. However, enough sensible individuals had agreed to coordinate. They would be sending off the weapons in the weeks to come so progress was imminent.

And then Sam and Adam were killed. Trouble found them, as was typically the case—so typical, in fact, that Castiel didn’t bother immediately informing Dean or Bobby. Such a setback would only lead to panic although such matters, at this point, had become routine.

Castiel managed to locate their souls in Heaven using an ancient, tenuous spell that permitted him to harness and speak through electromagnetic frequencies. He urged them to find the one angel rumoured to still be in communication with God, Joshua, to pass the message of Castiel’s mission onto him. They agreed, and while they travelled through the Axis Mundi, avoiding Zachariah, they encountered treasured memories.

Cas guessing from context, they came across Sam’s first dog, witnessed Adam’s first kiss, Sam and a yellow-haired girl’s second date. Adam and his mother’s dinner the night he was accepted into university. Sam carving his initials into the Impala with Dean as a child. Adam’s first car ride alone, with the music turned high and his pulse rocketing.

One memory in particular seemed to shake Adam and Sam, as they travelled quietly along. “I never really knew my mother…” Sam said regretfully. “All I really know is what Dean can remember.” Castiel could hear him run his hand alongside the steering wheel of the Impala, Dean’s vehicle, first his father’s. Sam sounded resentful, though not at his brother. He mostly sounded sad.

“I wish I had a memory of her but…I was a baby when she died so I…just don’t. But I…I get it, you know,” Sam said. “Why you want to look out for your mom so badly.”

“Yeah?” Adam challenged, but his voice had none of its usual sharpness. He’d dulled around the edges, especially up here, where he should rightfully be. He was almost mild, and in his own way politer though Sam might not know it. It didn’t matter, Sam didn’t seem to take Adam’s attitude personally.

“When I went to college I…I met Jessica.” Sam sounded choked. _“Jess._ My girlfriend. She—she was killed by the same demon that killed my mom. I was out, you know, out of the life. Stanford pre-law.” He sounded wistful. “And then they killed her, and I got dragged right back in.”

“That was her, back there?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, gentle as anything. “When our dad…lost my mom, he kind of lost himself in the hunt. After…Jess died, that was the first time I ever understood him. So, I know I didn’t lose my mom the way you lost yours but…I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. That’s all.”

They drove in silence for awhile as Adam considered Sam’s words. Adam had been pulled from Heaven resentful, irritated. He was significantly younger than Sam and Dean. He’d known little of the life they led beyond the fact that he had been killed by it. Adam recoiled at the suggestion of any sort of responsibility he owed to the planet, responsibilities that Dean and Sam shouldered like twin Atlases, far enough to part not to see that the other was holding up the sky as well.

But, it seemed to Castiel that Adam was incrementally tempering himself. The Winchester’s had that effect. “I met your mom,” Adam spoke up, weighted with an apology. “Sort of. When Anna couldn’t kill you, she travelled back in time thinking she could kill your parents. Cas took us back to the 1970s and we saw her and John. The two of you weren’t even born yet.”

Sam was silent for a moment. Castiel had nearly died accomplishing that, in fact they all nearly had. It had been an incredibly dangerous task. “You’re welcome,” he offered.

“Wow…How was she?” Sam asked, sounding awed and emotional. _“Who_ was she?”

“She was…she was a cool lady,” Adam replied. “A hunter, but she didn’t want to be one. Our dad had never _heard_ of hunting. It was…weird.” He as quiet for awhile.

“I should’ve been there,” Sam said, voice laden with regret.

“Well, Anna had been gunning for you first,” Adam said for Castiel. “So, I don’t think that would’ve been a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, sounding incredibly pained. “I still…I still should’ve been there. Should’ve tried.” Neither Castiel nor Adam said anything.

“She was nice,” Adam offered eventually. “She wanted…she didn’t want you guys to be hunters. And now we’re dead. I don’t think she would’ve wanted any of this.” Castiel hadn’t met Mary himself, but he could remember the effects of her on Dean both this year and the year before. As though just breathing in her presence had given him some sense of peace.

Coming back from 1973, where Castiel had—somewhat cruelly, or with what Dean perhaps would call ‘tough love’—brought Dean back in time to meet his parents and understand the inevitability of fate, had been the first time Castiel had truly seen Dean as something other than a malfunction, a rebellious child.

Dean had melted beneath his touch, then. Not angry with Castiel, but understanding. Castiel knew parents didn’t wholly inform the behaviour of their children, especially parents who were no longer in their lives, but he felt she’d had some effect on Dean. That whatever he understood of her goodness, whether or not it was true—though it seemed that it was, was kept alive within him. Sam seemed much the same.

Sam was quiet, sad and solemn. “Cas?” he called out softly. He sounded vulnerable, like a child learning to pray.

“Yes?” Castiel spoke through the radio.

“My mom’s up here, right?” he asked. “Mary Winchester?”

“Of course,” Castiel replied. He hesitated a moment. “I don’t think you’ll be able to find her. The number of souls in Heaven are—beyond human comprehension. That you’ve met people you know has already been highly fortunate.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Sam spoke into the dark, sliding his hand idly across the steering wheel. “I’m just…I wanted to know for sure. That she’s happy.” Castiel didn’t know what to say to that. It was Heaven. So, he stayed silent.

“Is it really so bad?” Adam asked after a moment, doubt clearly slithering through his mind. “For the two of us to go along with what the angels want us to do?”

“Yes,” Castiel chimed in from the radio.

“How’d you mean?” Sam asked, ignoring Castiel entirely.

“I mean…” Adam said. “My mom is happy up here. Your mom is happy. That Ash guy, Pamela, they’re happy. If we can make Heaven on Earth, then…then why are we fighting it?”

“Paradise on Earth relies on Michael winning,” Castiel reminded them. “While technically the battle can be fought in your two vessels, Dean is the Michael Sword. It’s unlikely that Michael would win with you as a vessel, Adam.”

“And Dean would never say yes,” Sam said, and Castiel didn’t understand how Sam couldn’t feel _proud_ of that. Castiel knew it was a risk—defying Heaven to such an extent, resisting what was most likely the most significant prophecy in creation—but he thought both Dean and Sam believed it had to be done. To Castiel’s relief, Sam concluded, “So, we have to figure out some other way.”

“If Dean thinks I’m going to fulfill the prophecy, he’d step in, right?” Adam said, sounding agitated. “I mean,” he went on, voice a bit shaky, pained. “The angels told me they brought me back to take Dean’s place but I think really they just wanted me to force his hand. If I can do that, and Michael wins, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“I don’t think we have to play by their rules, and I don’t think we have to get Dean involved,” Sam said. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m missing, but I think this world is worth saving. Life isn’t just about living happily ever after. It’s about the pain, hard work, the loss. This, Heaven, isn’t a life.” He was right. As an angel, Castiel never had felt that he had lived until he was fighting on the side of Earth. Even that was just an…emotion, another earthly thing.

“It’s been…it’s been hard living with you guys,” Adam admitted. “Because…I’m just always waiting to _die_ again. To come back here. To feel…to feel _safe_ again, whole, and like I don’t have anything to worry about. And then I come back to life, and now I have everything to worry about. More than I ever did before.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the Winchester experience,” Sam said easily.

“I’m not a Winchester,” Adam reminded Sam, resentment set in his voice.

“Right,” Sam sighed. “When my mom died, our dad…pawned off pretty much all parental duties onto my brother. He drank, and he hunted and, and there’s a reason why I don’t have a single memory of him up here. And I know, I know you would’ve taken it, whatever scrap you could get. But the reason why John never did right by you was the same reason he never did right by me and Dean.”

“What’s that?” Adam pressed.

Sam sighed again. “He was a bad father,” he said. “The angels used him like they used my mom, like they’re using us, but he was a bad father. I’ve got you and I got—I’ve got Dean. And I’m _done_ being Heaven’s plaything!” Just as quickly as Sam’s voice had raised, it settled once more as he said, “And I’m not going to let down my brother, either. There’s another way, and I’m going to find it.”

Castiel felt reassured, but…apprehensive. “You would still be best to steer clear from these things,” he said. Sam had said something about Dean not needing to be involved, which was troubling. “The two of you should lie low with the Harvelles.”

“Cas, me and Adam were just killed in our sleep,” Sam said, drumming along the wheel subconsciously. “We’re in it, no matter how any of us feels about it.” Castiel couldn’t argue.

_April 1, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Castiel visited every republic in the known world, and every bar therein. Halfway through a liquor store in Belgrade, Castiel remembered to inform Dean and Bobby of what had transpired, seeing as Dean and Sam were no longer speaking, though the absence of God really only mattered to Castiel. He dropped himself off in the midst of Bobby’s living room, knocking over a coffee cup.

“You’ll be pleased to know you were correct,” Castiel announced, perhaps too loudly, perhaps not loud enough. “God is gone.”

“Evening to you too, Cas,” Dean said, getting steadily to his feet. He tossed a look over at Bobby as Castiel swayed. “Are you _drunk_?” Castiel felt belligerent, especially in the face of a question so obvious it bordered on rhetorical.

“I don’t need this anymore,” Castiel said. He placed the amulet onto Dean’s open palm, idly watching the string coil. “It’s useless.” Dean looked up to catch his eye.

“Sit down, Cas,” Dean said. “What the hell is going on?”

“Adam and Sam were killed.”

_ “What?”_ Dean yelped. This was exactly why Castiel hadn’t told him in the first place.

“They’re _fine,”_ Castiel said, rolling his eyes. “You Winchesters should be used to dying by now. In Heaven, they managed to speak to the last angel that still speaks to God.”

“So, you contacted God,” Dean realized. “What did the old man say?”

_ “‘Back off.’”_ Dean flinched away. “He exists, Dean, He’s somewhere on Earth, and He’s _not_ going to help us.”

“What?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Right,” Bobby said. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Castiel could’ve laughed. “Nothing to you, I suppose,” he said. Neither Dean nor Bobby had paid much attention to Castiel’s fool’s errand. It was just as well. “Only that I’ve wasted all this time, all my life on—” he swayed where he stood. He had _believed_ in that bastard.

“Okay, okay, take a load off,” Dean said, moving to drag Castiel over to the table, where he sat across from him “I’ll stay up with him, Bobby,” Dean offered. “Make sure he doesn’t choke to death on his own angelic vomit.” Bobby grumbled loudly and left the room.

Castiel wanted to argue with Dean, inform him that drinking posed no aspiration hazard to him, but found himself distracted with the way Dean spoke. With the way he sat down again across from Castiel and eyed him with concern. Dean was worried about him. Dean cared about many things, Castiel knew this was his nature, but Castiel had somehow never anticipated that Dean would ever care for him. Bobby muttered a quick goodnight and left the two of them alone.

Castiel knew that alcohol brought with it various phases of emotion, or so humans had assigned such patterns to their revelry. Castiel had drunk too much, he thought, to get emotional but here he was, feeling positively…he didn’t know what. He was feeling something. Perhaps he did have to throw up. As Anna had promised, it got worse. He looked away from Dean.

The words came out with no preamble, “My superiors always instructed that emotions were weakness.” Castiel knew he felt incredibly, quietly fond of Dean, suddenly and unavoidably, despite the man’s immense capabilities of stupidity. In Dean, he had seen emotions power actions beyond anything Heaven had been capable of, much less Castiel. Power to shape the world for good.

“Well, they were right, weren’t they?” Dean sighed aloud, gesturing between them. “You’re not exactly Heaven’s poster child anymore. Drunk off your rocker.” Castiel had to put effort into not laughing out loud. Had he truly been Heaven’s, he never would have considered disobedience, that was evident. When he looked up to meet Dean’s eyes, Dean was watching him, a strange expression on his face.

“Perhaps,” Cas allowed, voice low and lazy. Dean was meeting his gaze head-on, a little bit of a challenge to the tilt of his jaw. “But, even this,” Cas admitted, “I’ll take it over the alternative.” Dean’s mouth opened, and he closed it, looking thoughtful. “When this is over,” Cas murmured. “When we kill the Devil, Dean…what are you can do about Sam?”

“Sam?” Dean mused. “When this is over, I’m taking him out for drinks.” His lips pulled into a small, wistful smile. “You’re invited, obviously. Cas, it’s not that I don’t—” he broke off, smile fading. And Castiel could sense it. How wrong Dean felt to move in this world without his brother. But, in its own way, this was about Sam as well. Dean was, even now, protecting his brother.

“You don’t have to shoulder this all by yourself,” Castiel murmured. He had people. If he wanted Jo, he could have her, if he wanted Castiel…Dean had jumped to the task of saving the world, not because he wanted to be involved, but because he would not be able to live with himself if he hadn’t. Dean didn’t see that Sam was the same as him, or perhaps he would rather pretend otherwise.

Dean shook his head. “It’s too risky to involve Sam.” And that Castiel could agree with. “But. As far as partners go, it’s uh, not bad to have my own personal guardian angel.” Dean glanced to the side, seeming guilty. “If you wanted to stick around.” Castiel was finding increasingly that he did.

His time on Earth with Dean was proving to be _more…_than anything in Castiel’s existence prior. That in itself was frightening. How Dean could make him question everything he had thought for millennia to be true. And Castiel still chafed against it, now and then. But, where else could he go now? If Dean was offering him a place, Cas would be a fool not to make himself comfortable.

“Given how I’m on suspension from Heaven,” he allowed, rolling his head back to stare at the kitchen ceiling. “You could say I will be ‘sticking around’ for some time.”

“Yeah,” Dean mused. “Guess you’re in the doghouse now, huh?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t have any kind of house, Dean. I’m homeless,” he said, feeling pensive. Dean shut his eyes and shook his head like he was trying to clear something from his mind. Castiel regretted his sharp tone and leaned in closer to add, “Don’t worry, I don’t need to sleep,” in the case Dean was worrying.

“Right,” Dean replied, but he seemed vaguely amused. Still, Cas leaned back, satisfied.

“Cas, the way I feel about my brother,” Dean spoke up, “has done nothing for me or the world except hurt. No, we’re just,” Dean said, pausing to clear his throat. “We’re better off apart.” He nodded to himself. Castiel thought of what the men at the Convention had said, about the bond between the two brothers. Just a year ago Dean would have likely agreed.

“I’m drunk,” Castiel said. Dean smiled at him. It was very beautiful.

“I noticed,” Dean replied, voice rich with something Castiel couldn’t name. He probably thought Castiel was being amusing in his drunken state. Castiel sighed, long and hard.

“I believed in Him, Dean,” he said, trying not to sound too injured. “Even with all evidence to the contrary. I believed He still cared.” All of Dean’s worries about finding a weapon to kill Lucifer, or Sam and the Harvelle’s interest in the Horsemen’s rings. It all could be avoided if God stepped up for His children. What prophecy existed that God Himself couldn’t rewrite?

“Yeah, well,” Dean said. “When you live in a world where your Dad doesn’t watch out for you, what do you do?” Castiel blinked. “You look out for each other.” He looked at Castiel so earnest and carefree then.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Like you have done for your brother.” Dean gaped in return, like he hadn’t expected Castiel to say such a thing, to think it, even if it was true. Offended like his dog had turned on him and bit him. “Pray if you need me,” Castiel said, standing upright, nearly pitching over. There was a Borovička in Brno that was calling his name.

_April 8, 2010 – Blue Earth, Minnesota_

After the bloodbath in Blue Earth, Castiel had followed Dean’s advice and swallowed as many aspirin as he’d had the patience for. It had been nightmarish, to see the way humans fell and capitulated to panic. Still, with the mother of harlots and abominations of the Earth felled by the town priest, there was some hope to it all. Castiel felt he had been largely useless throughout it all, trying to sober up, and then battling his hangover. Dean sat next to him outside the car, catching his breath with their small victory.

“We’re on our way, you know?” Dean muttered. “The weapon to kill Lucifer is…pending. I’m not…” He hunched over on himself. “Did I do enough, Cas?”

“You’ve done as much as anyone could,” Castiel said, knowing Dean would do more still. Castiel suddenly felt ashamed, pathetic. Castiel felt as though he’d been admonished. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, sobering. The buildup of acetaldehyde in his vessel was still causing him pain, but he no longer felt inebriated. “I’ll work harder.”

“Listen, man, I know you’ve been working hard as any of us up to this point,” Dean sighed. “Harder, maybe. Not your fault Sky Daddy ditched. We’ll figure this out.” Castiel took in a breath. He didn’t need to, but he did.

“And if we don’t?” Castiel asked. Dean’s good nature seemed to crack and shatter.

“We will,” he said, firm, but there was an undercurrent to his words. Castiel wanted to believe him. Dean’s eyes flickered to the ground. “Listen, man, will you be alright tonight?” he asked.

“I should be,” Castiel said, not sure what the alternative would be. He certainly wasn’t going to go out drinking again. He’d had enough for now. “Dean I…” Castiel glanced away. “I don’t know what to do. Who to follow. I’ve been—chasing God—my entire existence. And now…now I know that He’s running, and I don’t—”

Castiel had never cried before. He wasn’t sure if angels were capable of interacting with their vessels in such ways, or if it was just eons of practiced suppression taking its toll. But Castiel felt—he felt as though he could cry, so lost he was. And he should be stronger, stronger than Dean. But he wasn’t.

“Listen, you can ride with me for now,” Dean said kindly, patting Cas gently on the shoulder. “Sleep it off.” It was a careful touch, and Castiel could have leaned into it, but then Dean got to his feet, already on the move once more. Castiel was in sore need of some guidance right now, even if Dean couldn’t give it to him. He didn’t know where to go, what to do. He nodded and climbed into the backseat.

_ April 9, 2010 – Cicero, Indiana_

The easy intimacy and affection Dean sometimes presented him with could be overwhelming. Confusing. Obscure. It left him with a desire to communicate in some kind of language he’d never had the opportunity to learn. And he tried his hand at it, driving at night without lights or a map. With each step Cas would take closer, Dean would fall back, in a strange dance that Dean would insist wasn’t a dance.

It manifested itself innocuously, in the quiet comfort of existing in Dean’s orbit, but Castiel realized presently that the feeling wasn’t mutual, per say. Dean could touch him, and it was something that would make Cas’s skin hum with energy, but if Castiel attempted similar actions Dean would shrug him off like they were the same poles on different magnets.

Perhaps it was a matter of boundaries. Dean had his, possibly due to the circumstance of his body, and Castiel…had none which to speak of. He’d never occupied a vessel for prolonged lengths of time and for angels ‘personal space’ only went so far as to be polite enough not destructively interfere with each other’s wave properties. Perhaps that was a problem in and of itself. Castiel was a soldier, an instrument of God, celestial intent focused and bound into a singular human vessel. For whatever reason, he enjoyed Dean’s company. He knew he shouldn’t.

But he recognized a kernel of himself in Dean. Of the man who was incredibly loyal to his family, who would and had died for them as Castiel would have fallen for his siblings, would have fallen for God. And yet. There was this other element of this man, that spoke to Castiel much more deeply. The righteous man Castiel was falling for.

And this would perhaps only come to be truer in the coming days and Castiel couldn’t qualify how he felt about that. He had been a warrior for Heaven since his conception, coming down to intervene with and micromanage the affairs of the lowly organisms—barely a fraction of difference between them and their closest relatives, or so his siblings loved to remind him. But if Dean and his brother rested somewhere in that percentage, then he was indebted to a percentage.

Castiel had rested off his inebriation in the backseat of Dean’s vehicle, watching the streetlamps streak across the night sky like so many brassy meteors as Dean wound his way from Minnesota to Indiana. Castiel didn’t know where they were going but he trusted Dean to take them there. By the time they arrived it was daytime. Castiel had enjoyed watching the telephone wires dip and dance across the sky and had been broken from his reverie by Dean pulling over to park.

Dean didn’t move. He had his hands on the wheel, face turned to the house across the street. Castiel shifted in his seat. He had more or less entirely recovered from his earlier dramatics, feeling sober but chastened. “Are you planning to go inside?” he asked, placing his arm against the back of Dean’s seat and leaning into the front of the Impala.

_“Jesus!”_ Dean swore, stumbling in place as though Castiel had badly startled him.

“A Second Coming would certainly be helpful right about now,” Cas replied dryly. “Sorry to disappoint.” He could see Dean roll his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Thought you were still napping back there,” he complained. “You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me, man.”

“I suppose it _would_ be alarming to turn around and discover you are being watched,” Cas said, not-too-subtly craning his neck in the direction of the house Dean was parked in front of. Though truly he wasn’t one to judge. He was the one who’d been tailing Dean out of idleness and curiosity all this time.

“Smartass,” Dean scowled. He turned back to the house. “I’m just…trying to figure out what to say.” Ah…this was something personal. Castiel glanced back at the house. There was a dark-haired woman in the window. Dean had…women in many ports, so to speak. Or at least one.

“Should I leave?” he asked, trying to be sensitive, the throat of his vessel feeling tight. Dean opened his mouth and let it hang for a moment, before turning away awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” he settled on. He looked over at the house pensively. “Me and Lisa…we had a thing awhile back,” Dean explained. Her name was Lisa. “Long time ago and we…met up again a few years back. I, I always thought I might give a—give a normal life a try. With her. Settle down. But it doesn’t seem like things are gonna be shakin’ out that way.” Dean’s smile was stretched thin and wan across his face, not quite meeting his eyes.

“When my, when my mom died,” Dean went on. “It ripped my dad to pieces. The man he was in the seventies was _not_ the guy I knew when I was growing up. He was…totally twisted. Focused on the mission above all else. And…the guy I become, in Zach’s vision.” Dean fell silent for a moment, like he was weighing the pros and cons of speaking to Cas, then said, “Man, I’m already a lot like my dad but the resemblance was…uncanny, you know?” He laughed, but he sounded terrified.

Castiel knew John Winchester only through reputation but he seemed to make a controversial figure. From the way the boys had talked about him, stuck between loving and hating the man, Castiel was never certain if, given the opportunity, he should shake his hand or strike him down. Dean continued.

“So, so the way I’m looking at it is,” he said. “If things work out. If we get our hands on Beelzebub-B-Gon and gank the devil then, then I’m going to come back here. And I’m going to try. See if I can live the apple-pie life. Me and Sam both. But…” and there was always a _but_ with the Winchesters.

Dean looked miserably down at his knuckles. “If things go south…I can’t promise her that I’d provide a better life than if I’d just leave her and her family alone.” Castiel nodded. He could see the ethics of the situation play out. He was skeptical that Dean would ever purposefully mistreat anyone he cared about, but he couldn’t argue with Dean’s fear.

They sat beside each other for awhile, silent to the point where they may as well have been sitting alone, Dean never pressing the doorbell. Castiel felt he understood him a little better. Once upon a time, Castiel would have been able to make arrangements, offer protection. “I’m sorry I can’t protect her,” Castiel said. Dean looked over at him, surprised.

“Not your responsibility,” he settled on, as though it was his. His eyes were narrowed on Castiel, full of consideration.

“If you agreed to be Michael’s vessel,” Castiel spoke up. “You could arrange things so that she could be taken care of.” He didn’t want Dean to say yes. And perhaps it wasn’t even a kindness to remind Dean of this. But he felt he should say it, in the interest of full disclosure. Dean’s head bowed.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I bet.” He frowned, back hunched over the steering wheel, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Castiel wondered if Dean loved this woman enough to think that losing her would break him. He wondered if love was enough to break someone, and how that could be.

Dean suddenly drummed up his courage and exited the car. He walked up the steps to her door, hands at his side, keys in his pocket, ready to run but open to staying. They spoke for awhile and Castiel tuned it out. They argued, she begged, they kissed. And Castiel left too, not knowing what else to do but knowing better than to watch them.

_ April 15, 2010 – Van Nuys, California_

Dean started mobilizing with the Sheriff in Sioux Falls, working out contingency plans with various groups, and contacting hunters through Ellen and Bobby, as well as harassing the Men of Letters. He seemed all the more committed to killing the Devil. Sam had isolated himself, shouldering the sole burden of saying no to the Devil. They both moved with a sort of desperation, and all of that stopped cold one night when Sam informed Castiel that Adam had been taken by the angels.

There was only one way the angels could have located Adam, and that was if he had told them. That suggested nothing good, a bridge that Sam had not managed to build. Castiel brought Dean, trusting that Dean at least would not crumble, and also not being able to argue against Dean’s insistence when he brought the matter to Bobby and his attention.

Adam had been taken to the same green room that had once housed Dean when they were plying him. Castiel had retrieved Dean once, he could do the same for Adam. Except for the fact that the location was better guarded than it had been in the past and Castiel wouldn’t be able to reach Adam in time. Outside the muffler factory, he proposed his strategy.

It was risky but if there was any grain of truth to the future Dean had seen, it left Castiel feeling more determined than worried. Even without the promise of his presence in 2014, Castiel suspected he wouldn’t die, though he had no idea where he would end up carving an angel banishing sigil onto his chest. Still, Winchesters were famous for their sacrifices. Dean could admire it, at least. All of Cas’s grand plans had stuttered to a halt when Anna made herself known.

“Anna,” Castiel started, turning around and placing himself between her and Dean, feeling for his angel blade and advancing on her.

“Relax, Castiel,” she said, voice clear. “I’m not going to hurt Dean. Or Sam.” He didn’t believe her. “I see now that the end of the world has already started. There wouldn’t be a point.”

“You,” Castiel snarled. “Where were you.”

“Hiding,” she explained, glancing at Dean over Castiel’s shoulder. “But now I know the time for that is over, and I have to pick a side. I’m choosing yours.” Dean started to speak.

“How can we trust you?” Castiel asked, cutting Dean off.

“Maybe you can’t,” Anna replied, raising her jaw to meet Castiel’s stare directly, uncompromising. “Maybe you never will. But, the least I can do is what you were planning to do to begin with.”

“Sacrifice yourself?” Dean asked, concern tense in his voice. Castiel felt a flash of irritation.

“How can I trust that you would do that?” he asked. He hadn’t expected her return, and felt he could expect little else from her.

“If you don’t, you can go on ahead,” Anna invited. “Leave Dean and I alone.” She raised an eyebrow in an extremely human manner, her wide, dark eyes looking at Castiel knowingly. Castiel grit his teeth, shifting the blade within his sleeve. She saw his movement and unflinching, she said, “We can fight, Castiel, but trusting me would be more time efficient.”

Castiel relented. She was right, always the strategist, an unavoidable element and a scuffle outside would no doubt alert the other angels to their presence. She had already tainted their operation by being here, and she would not leave. “Alright,” he said. Anna nodded.

“Hang on, Anna, wait—” Dean said. His eyes were wide, jaw slack. After everything, he still cared for her. Castiel doubted he’d receive the same regard.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Anna murmured, dark eyes fixed on him with some sadness. She turned to Castiel with the air of a soldier. “Give me a minute, then follow.” She straightened out her shoulders and made her way into the building. Castiel looked over at Dean, who stared after her. Castiel felt for the cool touch of his blade and waited.

_ April 15, 2010 – Bakersfield, California_

After Anna’s sacrifice and the ensuing clash, Dean and Castiel had barely managed to escape with Adam, but they had done so. Finding a vacancy in a sidestreet hotel, Castiel remade the Enochian sigils on Adam’s ribs in the case that they’d been altered, and then set about proofing the room itself so that they could regroup.

“Zachariah is a dick,” Adam came to realize, collapsing on one of the beds.

“Yeah, well, he’s a _dead_ dick now,” Dean consoled him. He grabbed a pair of beers from the so-called honor bar and he tossed Adam a bottle.

“They were just using me as bait,” Adam said, sounding totally gutted. But the alcohol seemed to give him some encouragement. Prying the beer cap off with his ring, Adam took a cheery swig. Living with two ex-bartenders had probably lent some perks to the nineteen-year-old.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, letting out a breath as Castiel drew the sigils on the walls as well. Cas caught Dean wincing, seeing Castiel use his vessel for this purpose, but while humans found the sight of blood distasteful they simply didn’t have time for alternatives.

Dean managed to open his own beer and took a long drink. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with drink and the day. “So…you know why you can’t say yes.”

“I never…I didn’t actually believe that I’d be the one to win against Lucifer,” Adam said. “It’s just…_damn,_ they totally used me, didn’t they?”

“At this point I don’t think they care if they win or lose,” Dean muttered. “Half of them are Satan’s sleeper agents. They just want game on.” Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on him. He glanced at the floor, remembering Uriel. Castiel felt as though most of the traitors had been weeded out the year before, but Dean wasn’t wrong to doubt.

“Anyway, now you know why me and Sam are apart. Because we’re brothers,” Dean said, gripping Adam’s shoulder. “And when we’re together, we’re always going to be used against each other. They got you, Adam, but they nearly got me, too. We just can’t think straight when it comes to family, and they know that.”

Adam nodded slow. “Sam said you died for him, once,” he said. Dean stiffened. He wandered over to kitchenette and set down his drink. He leaned against it, jaw working.

“He tell you how he jumped in bed with a demon the moment I was out of the picture?” he asked. “How he got addicted to demon blood in the first place?” Cas pulled away from the wall, concentrating, and letting the blood vaporize before pulling down his sleeves.

“Yeah,” Adam said. Dean sighed, tense. “Thanks for walking in there for me,” Adam spoke up. “I’ll be honest, I was considering it, saying yes to the Apocalypse. They had me. But I was a…an idiot. Now I know where we stand.” Dean’s face, indeed his entire body, melted into a genuine smile, relieved.

“Great,” he said. “That’s great.” He glanced over at Castiel. “Listen, we got Heaven’s taxi service here, if you wanted to say adios right about now. I mean, you could stick with me, or Sam, or we could set you up to go your own way. But…listen, uh—” Dean said, lashes low over his eyes, a sense of bashfulness about him. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Adam looked solemn. “Yeah,” he said. And then, looking up at Dean, he stood straight and walked over to him. And, awkwardly, the brothers embraced. Dean gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder, and Cas could see, through his discomfort, Dean having to chase down a smile.

“I wanna stay at Ellen’s, if that’s alright,” Adam explained, pulling away, and Castiel suspected his mind was on another Harvelle entirely. “And let Sam know…let him know.” Dean nodded at Castiel and gave Adam one last touch to the shoulder. Castiel reached out to grip Adam’s arm, and they were gone.

_April 22, 2010 – Lawrence, Kansas_

The devil was in Kansas, according to various sources, no doubt savouring the irony of dwelling where Dean had been born, or perhaps expecting some sentimentality from him. The Men of Letters had finally proved themselves useful, providing a weapon at last, and agreeing to send a team to fight alongside Dean and his people, for Dean had people. Castiel wasn’t convinced that the weapons the Men of Letters had would be useful, but they were at least _something, _which was more than Castiel had been able to offer.

Inside a hotel the Men of Letters had rented, they prepared through the night and in the morning they rose, going through their weapons and their strategies once more and once more, moving together. Castiel had received Sam’s prayer, an SOS signal, just before they had to set out, and Castiel knew staying wasn’t an option.

Castiel informed Jo that he would have to go, knowing she’d take it easier than Dean, especially if he told her why. But she just gaped at him, hefting her backpack onto her shoulder, confused, and then Dean rounded the corner, as though he could sense Castiel’s apparent disloyalty.

“Where the hell to, man?” Dean asked. He’d heard. He approached Castiel, aggressive, affronted. “We’re _this_ close to ending the devil and you’re playing _hooky?”_ Their mission was incredibly risky; Lucifer had no qualms about squashing the people he viewed as insects. But Castiel had to go, and if Dean knew he likely would as well.

“I’ll return as soon as I’m able,” Castiel said.

“Where are you headed, Cas?” Jo asked idly, unoffended, picking a gun off the counter and checking its safety. Her mind was still on the mission, Dean was already distracted.

“I’ll tell you when I return,” Castiel replied, because Dean was glaring. _If_ he returned. As dangerous as the mission Jo and Dean were undertaking, Castiel would be going up against Gods. It wouldn’t be easy. In some ways his promise was empty, and it did little to mollify Dean.

“Cas,” Dean said, voice low and dangerous, catching on Castiel’s evasiveness. “What the hell do you know that you’re not telling me?” He walked over to Castiel, as though he was intent to shove him into the wall behind them. Jo gave them space.

“I will tell you,” Castiel informed him, pushing back, “what you need to know when it becomes relevant.” Dean was still in his space, angry, distrustful. Castiel could hear the pulse beneath his skin, face becoming flushed, lips spreading open, no doubt to yell some more. But Dean just hung there, like a pendulum suspended, and then Jo came back, breaking the moment in two.

“Dean, we have to go,” she said, frustrated. “These so-called ‘Men’ are already itching to ditch us. Pompous assholes.” Dean nodded, eyes not leaving Castiel.

“We’re talking about this later,” he threatened, putting his finger in Castiel’s face before turning around to follow her. Castiel scowled, a little offended by Dean’s dramatics. Knowing where Cas was going and why would only hinder Dean. Sam and Adam had been kidnapped again, not by angels but by Gods, and Castiel didn’t have the time to explain the situation to anyone. He spread his wings.

_ April 22, 2010 – Muncie, Indiana_

Castiel spotted Gabriel sitting outside in the parking lot in a car. Gabriel called them over, intending only to speak to Adam. “I’m staying,” Castiel said, getting into the backseat.

“Nice and covert, fellas,” Gabriel sighed as Adam slid into the passenger seat.

“Explain yourself,” Castiel couldn’t help but growling.

Gabriel had faked his own death, slain with a replica blade, and was intent on getting himself, Sam, and Adam out of the pockets of the Gods. “You’re cute,” Gabriel said to Adam. “No offense to Sam, but she likes _you_. You can get close, lift the plasma, then we vamoose.”

“No,” Adam said. “The blade can kill Lucifer. And if that’s a fake one in there, give us the real one! In fact, why don’t you kill Lucifer yourself?” Gabriel laughed in Adam’s face, but there was an edge to it.

“That’s not how things work, kiddo,” Gabriel snarled. “That’s not part of the plan.”

“And what, _I_ was?” Adam asked, flushed with humiliation and anger. Gabriel averted his gaze. Adam looked over at Sam outside, laughing a little sheepishly, though it was clear he was terrified. “Even if we get another shot, which we probably won’t—it’s best to cover all our bases, right?”

“I can’t be the one to do it, alright?” Gabriel said. “I can’t be the one to kill my own brother. These two—they can sort it all. I’m out!”

“How do you think _I_ feel?” Adam asked, raising his voice, and he really didn’t understand just how insignificant he appeared to an angel. But he had a point to make. “At least I’m _trying_ to do something, _trying_ to help. I’m not running away anymore.”

“Sorry, kid,” Gabriel said coldly. “I’m a Trickster. All I do is run. And, if you’re so damn brave, why don’t you take over for your brother? Because you should. I wouldn’t bet on you to win, but stranger things have happened.” Adam turned away, breathing fast.

“What do they got on you in Heaven, anyway?” Gabriel mused. Adam’s eyes were wide, pale, frightened. He was still a teenager. “It’s family, I bet,” Gabriel said, with a sinking recognition. “Mommy? Daddy? Flip a coin, I’ve got decent odds on being right. You know, Heaven might lie to you about everything else, Adam, but they’re not lying to you about that.”

Adam couldn’t be swayed by Gabriel, not now. “Adam—” Castiel growled out.

“Ah-buhbuh!” Gabriel chided, stealing Castiel’s voice with a snap of his fingers. “Me and Adam are talking. Little bro to little bro.” He turned his head to give Castiel a smile which didn’t meet his eyes, and then he turned back to the boy. “Come on Adam, get this show over with! For all of us! Get out of here and end this bloody, painful, ugly mess.”

“I can’t—” Adam choked out.

“Sure you can, _champ,”_ Gabriel said, leaning over to Adam. His voice was reassuring, painfully sympathetic. “All you have to do is say yes, and all Sam has to do is say yes, and everything else will sort itself out. One word. Easy-peasy.”

“I can’t do that,” Adam went on, tears starting to bead at the corners of his eyes. “Because—because this world deserves _better_. People deserve better than the end of the world, even if Michael wins. And—” Adam steeled his voice, “little brother to little brother—I think you agree with me.”

“I think you care about people out there—” he pointed outside where Sam and the Gods were speaking, “even more than I do. Even the ones that tried to kill you. Maybe especially those ones. And if Michael wins, they’re _gone_, and they will never exist again and I—I know you’re not okay with that. I know you love them.”

Gabriel said nothing for a moment, merely stared at Adam, shocked. Then he broke. “Okay, damn,” he laughed. “Alright. The teacher has become the student.” He sighed and ran a hand across the back of his neck. With a flourish, he produced a DVD case and pressed it into Adam’s hands. “Hold onto this, it’s important,” he winked. With a snap of his fingers, Castiel was able to speak again and Gabriel was strolling out of the car with the swagger of a fighter.

And then he was killed. And regardless if it was for real or not, that was the end of that.

_April 23, 2010 – Lawrence, Kansas_

“Lucifer came,” Castiel spoke up, quietly, gingerly. He could see Dean’s hands twitch at his sides. He could see the blood splattered on them, dried and caked on his skin. It was clear he hadn’t showered after he’d come back to his room, still wearing yesterday’s carnage. “Sam and Adam were kidnapped and I was trying to free them. They’re safe but Lucifer killed Gabriel…”

Dean didn’t even flinch. “Lot of that going around, lately,” he said.

They had lost people. In their mission the day before. If Castiel had been there, perhaps he would’ve been able to heal them. But, Castiel could see that Jo and Ellen were alright. Bobby was alright. Dean was…Dean was not, but he was alive, as angry as he was. Castiel couldn’t ask for anything more.

“I have this for you,” Castiel offered. He glanced around. Dean turned his head, eyes narrowing on the object in Castiel’s hand.

“Cas, I know your people skills are about yea big,” Dean started, holding his thumb and index finger a few millimetres apart, “but, I’m sorry, this is the kinda stuff you watch on your own.” His hands were filthy. His knuckles were injured. There were bruises along his throat.

“It’s a message from Gabriel,” Castiel interrupted before Dean could go on. He knew what it looked like, and it wasn’t that. Well, not entirely. He added, “I’ve already watched it.” Dean could watch it alone if he wished. But Dean didn’t.

“Let’s see if we can’t get the DVD player to work,” Dean muttered. He moved off the bed and limped over to the television.

“Dean,” Castiel spoke up, a little reprimanding perhaps.

“What?” Dean snapped. Castiel stepped closer and pressed a careful hand to Dean’s jaw, healing him of his injury. Dean took in a shaky sigh, straightening out his posture, but he avoided Cas’s gaze with something like resentment. “Thought you said you couldn’t heal people anymore.”

“I couldn’t heal Bobby,” Cas corrected. “This is different.” He couldn’t have remade Bobby’s broken spine, but he could remake the tears and bruises decorating Dean’s skin.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this, Cas?” Dean asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “We could’ve gone after Lucifer some other day.”

“No,” Castiel said, softly. “We couldn’t have.” The Men of Letters would have gone on ahead with their mission, and whatever had happened would happen. They had called onto psychics to help locate Lucifer’s position…it would’ve been impossible to find him again.

“Might as well have,” Dean sighed. “Because it didn’t work, and people—good people—died. The weapons the Men of Letters gave were a bust. Not sure if those guys were just being incompetent or outright messing with us, but either way, I’m done asking them for help. And, seeing how little they think of all of us I don’t think they’ll be offering either. And you know, with the people they lost yesterday, I don’t think I could blame them.” He sounded so defeated, so hopeless.

“Let’s watch the DVD,” Castiel advised, voice low. Dean glanced over to him. Castiel had assumed Dean had slept after the mission last night, given his state of dress, but the hollow lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes spoke otherwise. Dean fed the DVD into the slot and returned to his place on the bed. Castiel, feeling awkward to stand, sat next to him.

“How did he die?” Dean asked after watching the film, the hard line of his body warming Cas’s shoulder as they sat together on the couch.

“Archangel blade,” Castiel said. “That was part of the plan—to kill Gabriel to prove that it’s possible to use the same weapon to kill Lucifer.”

“And is it?” Dean asked. Castiel turned to look at Dean.

“Evidently,” he said. “Though we’re not likely to obtain an archangel blade, now.”

“Christ,” Dean muttered.

“The rings are promising,” Castiel said, as that had been the point of Gabriel’s video, other than the uncomfortable vulgarity. “Many of them are already in our possession.” Castiel saw a muscle in Dean’s jaw tense and release.

“Maybe,” he said, skeptical. “But. There’s four archangels, right? We get our hands on one of their blades, stab Lucifer in his smarmy little head…sounds like a plan to me. No one has to say yes.” His voice had picked up steam, like he had found some hope. “Tell me I’m crazy, Cas.” He looked at Cas then, his eyes bright and green. In that moment Castiel didn’t know how to describe Dean. He couldn’t find the words.

“You aren’t,” he managed to get out, even though obtaining a Blade was essentially impossible. The words came from somewhere deep, like Cas had to grind them out. And Dean grinned with some renewed energy and drummed his hand across Cas’s shoulder. He got to his feet and set out to make himself coffee, smiling through his exhaustion like what Castiel had said to him meant the world.


	5. May 2010

_May 2, 2010 – Reno, Nevada_

Dean had suffered, failing to kill Lucifer with the Men of Letters, but with the materialization of a tangible weapon that was proven to work, unlike the Colt and the baubles the Men of Letters had provided, his spirit had been renewed. While Adam and Sam were hot in pursuit of the rings, Dean refocused his attention onto the archangel blades and informing hunters around them of the battle to come.

Lucifer was powerful, and if Dean wanted to get close he would need people. Dean wouldn’t consider them cannon fodder but that’s what they would be. Gabriel was gone and Lucifer no doubt had his blade, but Raphael was still an option. Michael himself could be used if they were smart about it. Dean had hope.

It was the first hint of Pestilence, a whisper of the Croatoan virus, that seemed to awaken something else in him. Dean had hope, he wasn’t afraid of the shadows of the future. He wasn’t foolhardy, he was focused, or so Castiel chose to believe. It was Crowley that had approached Dean about Pestilence, promising no strings attached, that he was just as at risk as any of them, and so on. Dean believed him—perhaps he was right to, but only his obvious disdain for the demon brought Castiel comfort.

Crowley had been adamant against Sam’s involvement, claiming that Sam had a history with the demon. Castiel had considered shifting the job to Sam, sparing Dean the trouble, but Crowley evidently had been correct.

“It really messed with his head,” the demon wearing Tyson Brady pouted mockingly. “When Yellow Eyes killed her. Sweet, sweet Jess.” He had a mouth full of blood and eyes full of empty. “And _poor _Sam. So sad. So easy to mold.”

Instead of giving them the information they wanted, the demon talked. About how he had met Sam in Stanford, in the years when Dean was gone from his life, how he’d introduced Sam to the woman he had loved and lost. How she and Sam had both thought they were friends. How he’d been the one to kill her.

“Good thing Sam’s out then,” Dean spat, voice guttural with disgust and poorly concealed rage. He was angry, angrier than Cas had seen him in awhile, cold with fury.

The demon looked at Dean for moment. And then he started to laugh. “Really?” he asked. He raised his eyebrow, then laughed again, almost giggling, “You think he’s out?” He grinned. “You know, what’s really funny about all this is that Sam didn’t even need me. Or Ruby. Or even Yellow Eyes. He’s walking down that road all by himself.”

“Screw this,” Dean said with a cold glance at Castiel. Dean didn’t care for the rings beyond using them as a bluff to try to woo the demon. He wanted to kill Pestilence to kill Pestilence, to prevent the Croatoan virus from erupting and spreading. Going after this Horseman wasn’t a matter of collecting his ring as Sam or Adam would, but it wasn’t an option to involve them. Castiel would just have to collect the ring himself and pass it on.

“Dean,” Cas said, stepping forward. He had seen Dean like this only once before. The demon smiled.

“Relax, angel,” he said through bloody teeth, skating his eyes up Cas’s length. “Dean here’s not gonna torture me. He’s not the type anymore, right?”

“I should,” Dean said, sounding resigned, hardly above a whisper. Not for the cause, but for his brother.

Castiel was no stranger to Dean’s darkness. He had rescued Dean from the depths of Hell, surrounded by flayed souls, caked in blood. And Castiel was no stranger to violence waged in the name of a righteous mission. They obtained what they needed to know. Dean killed Brady without a word, sparing Sam the same burden, leaving Cas to wonder if it was his place to worry.

_May 6, 2010 – Broken Bow, Nebraska_

“I’ll do it,” Ellen volunteered, folding her arms. Even Crowley himself, who had laid out the requirements of the deal, seemed shocked to see Ellen offer herself up. With Brady’s death, Crowley had been forced to find an alternative route to Death, though it was really Dean’s allies that bore the brunt of the punishment.

It was the way of demons—Death’s location in exchange for a kiss to power a spell. Dean had other things to worry about, other people. The information he had obtained from Brady had been passed on to Bobby to Ellen to Sam. Castiel escorted the call down the line and to his displeasure the line lead straight back to Crowley.

“Pucker up, lover boy,” Ellen prompted, chuckling dryly to herself though it was clear she was distressed.

“Mom!” Jo cried out, turning to her mother. “You can’t do this,” she hissed, pale. “You can’t risk your _soul!”_

“Hush, Joanna Beth,” Ellen said, voice low, comforting but giving no quarter. She stepped over to Crowley, considering him coldly. “Been awhile since I got some action.”

“Mm,” the demon pretended to consider it, over his surprise and none too keen to make the deal with Ellen. “Sorry, love, not my type.”

_ “Pardon?” _Ellen asked, incredulous. Crowley just shrugged, smarmy and smirking.

“I…I can do it,” a soft voice spoke up. Crowley turned around. Adam. His smile seemed pained. “Do something useful with my soul for a change.” Jo looked equally as dismayed to see Adam volunteer, reaching out to touch his arm.

“Adam, _no,_ you don’t have to do this.” She hung onto the sleeve of his shirt. Adam pressed his lips together in a frown.

“I’m _going_ to give it back!” Crowley crowed out, offended.

“Last time we had dealings with you, me and my daughter nearly were _killed,”_ Ellen snapped. “Sorry if we’re hesitant to hand over our souls to you.”

“I’m fine, honest. Even if he messes with me, it’s not like that’s anything new. Hell, maybe it’ll make it harder for the angels,” Adam said, clearly not believing Crowley. Castiel didn’t have the heart to explain to Adam that promising Crowley his everlasting soul would have little effect on his time on Earth, in this war.

“Right,” Crowley said, settling back, troubled. “It’s just that…you’re a bit _young _for me.” He glanced over in Sam’s direction, clearly intending to make him uncomfortable specifically.

“You’re being pretty picky for someone who apparently just needs a soul for a spell,” Sam said critically, folding his arms.

Cas hadn’t seen him in awhile, and he seemed frayed around the edges, more muscular, a little thinner, a little edgier. It was good, Cas thought, that Sam was surrounded by people who cared for him—Adam, Ellen, Jo. It would give him power in the days to come to resist Lucifer’s machinations. Still, something about Sam’s countenance made Castiel uneasy.

“Just trying to mix business and pleasure, Moose,” Crowley grumbled. “Alright. Quick peck.” As Adam stepped up, Crowley muttered, “Christ, I feel dirty.”

“You’re a _demon,_ Crowley,” Sam gritted out.

“Even demons have their limits I’ll have you know!” Crowley declared. Adam stepped up to Crowley, pulling a face. Crowley smirked. “Alright, Gerbil,” he said, voice slick with some schadenfreude. “Make a wish.” Adam took in a breath and leaned in.

Castiel could have missed it, as in the second following Adam had pulled away as though burned. Crowley rolled his eyes at Adam’s reaction. “And the deal is done,” he crowed. “I’ll have your precious soul back to you in due time.” He cast a distasteful look over Adam.

Crowley moved on, but Adam appeared stuck, reaching out to touch his mouth, unhappy, retching at the taste of sulfur. Just then, Jo reached out, grabbing Adam by the arm and pressing an equally chaste kiss to his lips, as though to replace the memory of Crowley.

“Ugh,” Crowley complained loudly at the sight. As Jo and Adam parted, Adam’s eyes were wide, cheeks flushed. Castiel would never understand it. The significance of a kiss.

Castiel was not…well-versed in human displays of affection. He could recall Dean and Lisa, though he didn’t like to. He could remember witnessing Dean and Anna, how that had made him feel…confused, disgusted, curious. Relationships between angels and humans were forbidden, and while Anna had long since chosen humanity—to see that intimacy, that bizarre and brazen affection—

Sam cleared his throat obnoxiously. Castiel glared at him and Sam tilted his head to the side, seeming to indicate that Jo and Adam’s kiss was a private affair Castiel shouldn’t observe. He was most likely correct. Cas turned his gaze away, feeling ashamed for more reasons than he could articulate.

Outside, in the hall, Sam spoke to Castiel. “How is Dean?” he asked. He sounded tired.

“He’s well,” Castiel said, as honestly as he could. “He’s going after Pestilence soon. I’ll bring the ring to you once we have it.”

“Dean’s not collecting them?” Sam asked, surprised.

“Dean’s attention is focused on the archangel blades,” Castiel explained. While evidence indicated that Gabriel had died, Cas still wasn’t completely certain. Raphael and Michael also had blades that could be used against Lucifer. The odds weren’t terrible.

Then, with a crack in his faith in Dean, Castiel said, “There’s no point to not pursuing all avenues.” Sam nodded. Castiel took a moment to observe him.

“Sam, you can’t say yes,” he said, because he was afraid. “Hell, Heaven, a million different creatures will approach you and tell you that that is what you must do but they’re wrong. There must be another way.” If he’d learned nothing from Sam and Dean in the time he had known them, it was that.

“Right,” Sam agreed. But there was something in his eyes, that didn’t seem to follow his words. Castiel felt a sinking feeling in his gut, but there was nothing he could do. It was likely nothing; Castiel didn’t know human social cues so there was likely no reason to worry. It made no sense to capitulate to the devil, so it followed that Sam wouldn’t.

_May 6, 2010 – Davenport, Iowa_

“This is one of the last rings,” Castiel said of Pestilence’s ring. Sam was in pursuit of Death’s, though Castiel had still neglected to tell Dean of Sam’s activities.

Dean just laughed. “Cas, even supposing we figure out how they work. Like the devil’s just gonna toddle down into Hell willingly. No, Cas,” he said, rehearsing his new talking point. “We get our hands on an archangel blade and we squash Satan like any other cockroach. He ain’t that special.”

Castiel nodded. “Our new Colt,” he mused.

“Is there any reason why this MacGuffin wouldn’t work?” Dean asked. Castiel opened his mouth, considering the blades. He closed it after a moment, settling back.

“We’d need to find one first,” he said.

“Exactly,” Dean said. “Just one. Pestilence said we were too late, but honestly, screw that. Doesn’t mean things are going to get as bad as they are, we just need to get a head start. Once we find a blade, we could wrap this all up before the Croatoan virus is even a blip on anyone’s radar.”

It was good to see Dean hopeful again and committed to a cause, but Castiel would go to Nebraska to give Jo the ring all the same. “How’s Sam?” Dean spoke up. Cas would play the part of messenger without too much complaint.

“Dean, Sam is alright,” he replied. “He has Ellen. He has Jo, Adam, and Bobby. He has you, even if you’re no longer speaking. Your brother wants to help, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to say yes.” He hoped.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, tossing Cas the ring. He didn’t believe him. Which was just as well, Castiel hardly believed himself.

_May 11, 2010 – Miami, Florida_

Castiel had never been a betting man, or at least much of a successful one. He knew it was a gamble, siding with the Winchesters over Heaven and Hell, even God. But, he trusted the boys enough to try, and with Sam having retrieved the final ring from Death and it seemed things were moving ever closer to some sort of conclusion. Still, Castiel worried about what was to come, and had no one to confess his fears to.

“Have you heard from Anna?” he asked. Balthazar frowned. Normally light-hearted and full of jokes, he appeared stressed.

The two of them sat in a bar across from the sea, watching the waves roll in and out as Balthazar drank and Castiel abstained. “She landed somewhere in Louisiana, if I’m not mistaken,” Balthazar replied. “Essentially human. She drained most of her power allowing your pet to break into Heaven.”

“Dean isn’t my pet,” Castiel said, offended on both Dean and his behalf. That was not the tone to take with Balthazar.

“Cassie, what the hell are you doing?” Balthazar asked, with some flavour of confused sadness. “What happened to the plan? God’s plan?” Cas swallowed, feeling so incredibly human and weak before Balthazar.

“I searched for God,” Castiel uttered, looking down at the table between them. “I thought perhaps He could help us…that at least he could tell me if I’m…” Castiel’s shame choked him. He looked to the ceiling, at the cracks and divots. “If I’m on the right path.”

“And?” Balthazar pressed.

“What do you mean_ ‘and’?”_ Castiel asked. Balthazar hung his head.

“I should have guessed,” he admitted. “So, that means you’re throwing the baby out with the bathwater?”

“I’m not throwing _anything_,” Castiel said. “I’m just choosing to believe that…Heaven on Earth may not be the best outcome for the human race.”

_ “‘Heaven on Earth,’”_ Balthazar repeated, gasping. “Castiel, listen to yourself!” Castiel flinched and looked away. Anna would agree with Castiel, perhaps that was why he was so interested in finding her. “Even if that was possible, you’re really saying that this—this hellish monotony, is better for Earth than _paradise.”_

“It’s possible,” Castiel confirmed. He didn’t know that he could trust Balthazar with the explanation as to how, but thankfully Balthazar didn’t ask.

“We’ve been through a lot together, the two of us,” he said instead. “But I don’t know if I can follow you down the road you’re headed.” They had been friends once, trusted allies. Balthazar wouldn’t have agreed to meet with Castiel otherwise.

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said quietly. “I just wanted you, someone, to…understand, I suppose.” Anna would, but she was in the wind. Balthazar stared at Castiel for a moment.

“You used to be so loyal, Cas,” Balthazar said. “What changed?” Castiel looked down. He had believed that he was doing what God wanted…loving humanity. But God had left them all and Castiel had no idea what God wanted, if Castiel was doing the right thing.

“You know,” Balthazar said. “Those boys plan on capitulating to Michael and Lucifer.”

“They don’t,” Castiel said firmly. Dean would never bow to Michael.

“I’m not talking about the Winchesters,” Balthazar said, slowly as though he was being forced to speak with great patience. “Sam and the new boy.” Castiel looked over at Balthazar, gaze narrowing.

“So, Adam’s resurrection was not some ploy to convince Dean to consent to Michael?” he asked, feeling shrewd.

“Oh, certainly it was,” Balthazar agreed. “But, as you said, your pet would never agree to those terms.” Cas clenched his jaw, unwilling to remind Balthazar yet again that Dean wasn’t his. Balthazar, more skilled than Castiel at recognizing emotion, clearly caught on Cas’s expression, and he smiled, pityingly. “Or, should I say, your master?”

_ “Balthazar,”_ Cas warned.

“Apologies,” Balthazar replied, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. His eyes were cold on Castiel. “Dean Winchester may be categorically opposed to working with the angels, but his younger brothers are still available, and you’d do well to remember that.” Sam and Adam were working on _defeating _Lucifer, though Castiel knew now he certainly couldn’t trust Balthazar with that information.

Balthazar leaned in, voice low, almost beseeching. “Despite your demotion, you _are_ an angel, Castiel,” he said. “A soldier. You of _all people_ should know that you cannot fight Fate.” Cas clenched his jaw to the point of pain.

“Goodbye Balthazar,” he said. And, in his arrogance, Castiel left. If he hadn’t, perhaps he would have realized Balthazar had given him a warning.

_May 13, 2009 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

And so it came to pass.

Castiel hadn’t been privy to the plans between the two brothers. He had understood the logistics of the rings, had been present when Death had taught Sam how to unlock the Cage, but he hadn’t thought to consider the gap between point A and B when it came to fighting Lucifer and defeating him. Sam had. And it had involved saying yes.

“You knew, huh?” Dean asked, yelling. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell _me?”_ Jo blinked back tears. Sam and Adam had disappeared, and Jo had driven all night to South Dakota to inform them herself.

“Dean, I—there’s nothing we could do, Sam and Adam they just—” Jo stammered. “I didn’t think they were going to say yes! We thought they wouldn’t have to, but…Death must have said something to them.”

“So, Sam’s going to say _yes?”_ Dean asked. He dragged a stressed-out hand down his face, pinching his mouth. “Where’s he going to get the firepower to keep the devil down?”

Castiel hesitated. Then, realizing, he said, “Demon blood.” Dean gaped at Castiel, stunned. His expression folded.

“Christ,” he said, wiping the back of his wrist across his brow. “Why am I not surprised?” Castiel frowned. “He ain’t ever gonna change, is he?”

“He has some points, Dean,” Castiel tried.

_ “You two been talkin’?”_ Dean volleyed back. Castiel said nothing. Dean laughed at his silence, the noise coming out sharp and jagged. “So, it’s going to be my little brothers fighting this out.” Dean sniffed loudly. “Can Adam even hack it?”

“It’s possible,” Castiel said. He felt the urge to put his hand on Dean’s shoulder as he had done before when Dean had been distressed, but knew it would be unwise. “It’s _likely_. Michael will have _all _of Heaven’s power at his disposal.”

“Can…can Adam even handle that much juice?” Dean said, too intelligent to be consoled. He only had to look at Castiel’s face for a moment before he said, “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Castiel looked away.

“So, what I—just, dial up angel radio and get on my knees?” Dean asked, frustration and fear tightening his voice.

_ “No,_ I—” Cas said, the very thought of it was abhorrent. “I don’t know. If Lucifer and Michael battle—regardless of who wins—it _will_ be the end of days.” This world deserved more. Humanity deserved more. Dean nodded slowly.

“Adam,” Dean said. “He’s just a kid. If he goes up against Sam, he’s going to—”

“Maybe that’s how they get you, Dean,” Jo spoke up. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to fold.” Dean blinked back tears.

“Maybe I should,” Dean said. “At least then we’d have a shot at—”

“At what?” Castiel spoke up. “At killing your brother?”

“He wouldn’t kill him,” Jo shook her head, barely holding back tears. “Just…shove him into Hell.” Dean laughed.

“There’s a difference?” he asked. Castiel knew to Dean those things were equivalent and he looked away. It wasn’t like Dean was wrong.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean hissed, running his hands through his cropped hair. “He told me,” he said. “He _told_ me this would happen. That I’d get cocky and things would fall wayside but damn it we were so _close—_”

“We can still go after Sam,” Jo said. “If we went to him, we could get him to stop and—”

“No,” Dean said, voice cold. “Listen…I’m sorry Jo. I’m sorry about Adam. But, if they’re really gonna do this—what level of reasoning is gonna stop them? What kind of—appeal to common sense, and decency, and love or family or whatever, is going to get Sam to break?”

“No,” he concluded. He turned away from Jo, away from Castiel. “No, we have other people to worry about now.”

“Screw you,” Jo said. She was crying in earnest now. “I’m going to find them. Cas?” She turned to him. “Please.”

“It will be dangerous,” Cas said reluctantly, looking at Dean, at his hollow frame, all curled over on itself. Dean nodded his head, almost imperceptibly. And Castiel and Jo vanished, to Detroit. And in the end, Dean was right, and they let it happen. There was nothing else to do.

_May 14 2010 – Forest City, Iowa_

When Castiel had finally found Dean, deep in Hell, he had approached him so full of pride, so eager to bring him home. He’d hardly noticed the weapon in Dean’s hand, the soul on the table before him, all the blood. And Dean, in turn, had hardly noticed him. Castiel greeted Dean by name, demons crumbling around him as he spoke. He’d told Dean he was saved.

Why he’d felt the need, Castiel still didn’t know. Maybe, at best, a desire to comfort Dean and explain what was to be done. But there was perhaps a desire to take credit; he had felt something like pride with Dean’s eyes on him, some sense of intimate recognition and humility within him.

And Dean had turned away, digging his weapon into the table beneath him, intent on ignoring Castiel. A rejection, a resignation to his fate. Dean, who had for a second looked so humbled and awed to behold an angel, had turned down the offer of salvation, for reasons Castiel hadn’t immediately understood. But it hadn’t been an offer, and Castiel had placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, gripping him tightly, vacating inferno together.

Now, the entire Earth was screaming—California was on fire, Florida ripped apart by a cyclone. Now Portland, Boston, and everywhere from Tehran to Berlin, earthquakes. Initially, humanity had been blaming it all on Global Warming—they could recognize signs of the end of the world. An exception rested with Detroit, Motown resting twenty degrees colder than usual. Melting ice caps weren’t able to explain everything.

Everyone had devoted themselves to figuring out a way to kill the devil, and perhaps that might’ve inspired Adam too much. Adam had evidently said yes to Michael, and Lucifer must have met him halfway. By the time Jo and Castiel had reached the brothers, they were too late. The battle had begun and, whatever their plans had been, whatever had happened amongst the dust and rubble…it was Lucifer that had walked away.

Castiel returned Jo home and found Dean gone. After several desperate phone calls, Dean had finally answered, and Castiel found him in an empty hotel outside a nameless town in Iowa. Cas couldn’t determine if it was Dean’s last moment effort to chase after his brothers, or just the inability to stay in the same house as with the people he loved and felt he had disappointed, but here they were.

He hadn’t gotten far, just far enough for Dean to raid a liquor store and drink himself into a haze. Castiel understood the appeal. The townspeople had abandoned the building due to the quakes, and he and Cas sat among the wreckage, like they were the only two people left in the world and Castiel shuddered at what was to come.

And Dean, who didn’t believe in God, seemed to be praying. Castiel didn’t know what else to call it, Dean’s hand grasped around the amulet his brother had given him, slurred whispers muttered into it. The last refuge of the anguished soul.

“I could’ve helped,” Cas spoke up, and his voice betrayed a kind of sick self-loathing as he decorated the walls with protective wards and sigils. He looked at the blood on his hands with some disdain. He could bleed for the Winchesters but not in any way that truly mattered. “Had I moved faster, been…_wiser,_ I could have bought some time.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean muttered, voice hoarse with whiskey and mourning, refusing to let Castiel take any of the blame. “You tried. We all tried.” He took in a deep, bitter breath, gripping the bottle in his hand tightly in his grasp. “Sam made his bed.” Dean had done his best to keep Sam out of the apocalypse, but it turned out Dean was the one taking the backseat.

“I’m sorry Dean,” Cas murmured, voice low and eyes cast to the ground, full of apologies. He couldn’t conceive of what Dean was going through, and he felt a creeping sense of responsibility for what had occurred. “I’d suspected that Sam was not content to wait. If I’d—” A bottle shattered in Dean’s grasp, embedding shards of glass in his palm.

_ “Damn it,” _Dean cursed, and Castiel paced over to him.

“Dean,” he said, voice tight with concern and reproach; Dean was far too reckless with his own safety, always had been. Now he was angry and desperate, and no doubt feeling the fool for it.

“I’m _fine,_ Cas,” Dean insisted through gritted teeth as Cas gripped his wrist. Now they were both bloody and thoughtless and helplessly tied to what had transpired. He smoothed his hand over Dean’s, beginning to remake what he had once made.

“Cas, no,” Dean mumbled, pulling his hand away almost reflexively. Castiel glared at him. There was very little Castiel could do for Dean, especially now, especially after what they had lost, but _this _he could do. Dean sighed, shaking his wrist. In explanation, he said, “Don’t waste your energy on shit like this. It won’t last.”

“Dean.” But Dean still turned away from his touch.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he declared, voice cracking with frustration and self-loathing. Cas searched him, and Dean ignored his gaze, stepping away towards the bathroom.

It was evident that Dean didn’t want Cas fixing Dean’s injuries, his mistakes. Still, Castiel consoled himself that he had mostly managed to help. With nothing else to do, he listened to the water coil down the drain as Dean stood in the shower and refused to weep. Dean must have taken off Sam’s amulet before stepping into the bath, for he seemed to forget to ever put it back on. 

_May 20, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Michael’s fate was uncertain…if he had abandoned the world, or been killed, or fallen into the trap Sam and Adam had sprung. There was a prophecy to be fulfilled, but Lucifer didn’t feel obligated to follow God’s blueprints, so it meant little. Castiel was under the impression that he should have felt it, somehow, when an archangel died, that their deaths—so monumental—should reverberate through his Grace. But he hadn’t felt it when Gabriel died, either, so it wasn’t worth getting Dean’s hopes up by mentioning it.

Detroit crumbled. The rest of Michigan followed. Castiel took the opportunity to see the world again, to survey its remains. Primarily the damage extended to just that region of the United States, and he suspected things would stabilize—for a time. But with Lucifer reclaiming his vessel, the world was thrown into chaos.

He returned to Sioux Falls and felt gratified to find that Dean had returned safely. Dean had driven for awhile, after Detroit, before realizing that whatever pleasures driving afforded him could not be a substitute for drinking, and he could not have both. Dean did not bear the loss of his brothers well. Castiel hadn’t had to deal with much of the fallout, given his travels.

According to Bobby, the prodigal son eventually returned to Bobby’s house, claimed a bedroom, locked a door, and drank himself into a haze. “If you want in, you might have to bust the door,” Bobby told him, standing outside Dean’s room. “At this point, I’ve got half a mind to let you.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, nervous—angry and grieving. Castiel knew Bobby viewed Dean as his son. He knew Bobby felt the same way about Sam. Castiel stepped away from the door.

“How is he?” he asked. Bobby raised an eyebrow.

“How d’you think?” he asked, sardonic. Castiel didn’t need to guess. Dean’s pain was loud and sorrowful, calling out to Castiel like a siren across countries.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, moving to sit down next to Bobby.

“Fat lot of good feeling sorry does,” Bobby replied, but he didn’t sound angry at Castiel specifically. Castiel heard Dean approach, limping his way into the hallway.

“You two talking about me?” he asked, ugly and miserable. He looked terrible.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel offered, speaking as gently as he could. Dean held up a finger, jaw tight.

“We are not talking about this,” he said, not meeting Castiel’s gaze, but his eyes were dark and it sounded like a threat.

“Like hell we’re not,” Bobby spoke up, voice dangerous. Dean loped his way into the kitchen, at a pace faster than Bobby could comfortably wheel himself to follow.

In the kitchen Dean was leaning into the fridge, stocking up on beers. “You damn well told me not to off myself, remember?” Bobby said when he caught up, like he’d been chewing on this argument in his mind for hours. “You don’t get to turn around and do the same thing to yourself, right under my roof, drinking yourself away.” Dean’s jaw was clenching. “I’ve seen too much of that to let it happen to you.”

“Alright, Bobby,” Dean said, edgy and belligerent and very drunk. “Let’s say I dump the booze. Then what. _Then _what do I do?” Dean seemed to take Bobby’s shocked silence as some kind of victory. All of Dean’s hope for the future had completely vanished into self-loathing.

“I always had one job. Keep my baby brother safe. Then I got a new job—say yes,” Dean said, voice shaking with misery. “Easy, right? One word. How the hell did I manage to screw _that_ up? And let’s face it—all I’ve _ever _done is screw up.”

“You got another job, idjit,” Bobby said. “We both do. Saving people. How many people are you gonna save crawling into a bottle?”

“Saving people,” Dean laughed. “Thanks to _me_, Lucifer’s up and kicking. Man, we should’ve let Anna kill all of us because now who knows where the hell she is. Everyone would be better off if I hadn’t tried—couldn’t save my brothers, how’m I supposed to save the world?”

“The world still needs you, you stupid son of a bitch!” Bobby yelled. “You think you’re done? You think you just get to opt out because your feelings got hurt? Guess what, we’re _all_ hurtin’, and you ain’t helpin’ one bit. Get your head out of your ass and back in the game because this won’t get solved by you feeling sorry for yourself.”

“God, Bobby,” Dean spoke up. He sank to his knees, gripping the arm of Bobby’s chair. “I can’t. I’m not built for this.” Castiel looked away. Dean would hate him for being here when he finally sobered. “Thought I could hack it, and everyone was telling me I couldn’t and I didn’t believe ‘em. Thought I could do it. But I couldn’t. I can’t do anything.”

“So what? You’re gonna lock yourself up and drink yourself to death? You’ve got other people to worry about than the people you lost!” Bobby yelled. “Starting with yourself! Give it a try, for a change.” Dean’s jaw clicked shut, and he got to his feet like he’d been struck. He grabbed a pack of beer and paced to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Bobby buried his head in one hand, stressed. “Goddamn it,” he muttered to himself. He turned an angry eye on Cas. “You better be on call in case he needs his guts pumped.”

“I won’t leave,” Castiel said.

Some tension drained from Bobby but he still stirred in his chair, as though he was angry at his own limitations. Castiel wondered if Bobby was still, deep down, angry with Castiel for not being able to heal him. But, Bobby being able to walk wouldn’t have stopped Dean from refreshing his supply of alcohol and locking his door, just as Dean saying yes to Michael wouldn’t have prevented loss of life.

“Damn it,” Bobby muttered to himself. “He’s as stubborn as anyone I’ve ever known and hates himself like it’s a competition.” Castiel knew this. “He’ll get himself together, eventually,” Bobby promised, glancing over at Castiel.

“I…have faith in him,” Castiel replied. And he didn’t speak it with full certainty, but Bobby didn’t remark on it. But even so, Castiel didn’t mind, didn’t find his worries for Dean cheapening the faith he had that Dean would dig himself out of this hole, as he’d dug himself out of so many holes before. Belief, Castiel was coming to realize, required an element of doubt.

_May 26, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

It was a cool May morning, and Dean had not yet started drinking, but he also hadn’t stopped. Bobby’s impromptu intervention, if it had worked, hadn’t stuck. Dean was still living beneath Bobby’s roof but Bobby was refusing to speak to him and Castiel…Castiel had nothing else to do but wait it out. Dean wouldn’t stay in the room forever. He wasn’t the type, or at least that’s what Castiel thought. Castiel was impossibly old by human standards. He had nothing if not patience.

Castiel sat himself on a chair adjacent to Dean’s bed, watching the light filter in through the window, waiting for Dean to stir. There were amber bottles of alcohol lining the bedside drawer, empty, catching the light. There was at least one on the bed as well, crooked beneath Dean’s arm like it provided him with security. Castiel watched Dean’s chest rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

Dean had been in terrible pain after Sam’s surrender. That would’ve been obvious to anyone, but as an angel Dean’s pain had called to Castiel. As Dean’s ally, the pain had screamed, as dull and deep as the black of a bottomless pit. It had dimmed somewhat, in Dean’s rest. Dean wasn’t dreaming, Castiel knew, he was too tired for even that. He wasn’t at peace. But he was away for awhile.

Dean stirred, stretching among the sheets and then groaning quietly to himself. When he noticed Castiel he was startled off the bed almost entirely. “Jesus!” he yelped. “Morning, Cas,” he sighed.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel said. Dean got clumsily to his feet, hiding his half-naked body from Castiel childishly.

“Bobby get you to babysit me?” he grumbled. Castiel hadn’t come here on Bobby’s behalf, but he knew how worried Bobby was. How worried Ellen, Jo, and numerous others were about Dean’s wellbeing. Cas set his jaw and didn’t dignify the question with an answer.

Dean let out a sigh at Cas’s lack of engagement. He picked his shirt up off the floor and pulled it on, strolling over to Castiel, squinting. “Hey Cas,” he said, whining almost. “Got a headache. Whammy me with some feel-good.”

“I suppose that’s what happens when you drink yourself to sleep,” Castiel observed coldly.

“Oh, hah hah,” Dean grimaced in the morning light. “C’mon, don’t be shy now. Lay your hands on me.” Irritated, Castiel wanted to punish him, make him live with the consequences of his actions. But, Dean was asking for Castiel’s help for a change and he couldn’t help himself. It was unlikely that Dean was going to learn anything from Castiel’s passive aggression anyhow.

He put his hand on Dean’s forehead, encouraging the production of enzymes required to break down the alcohol and its by-products further, and breaking down some of them himself. Dean was clearly punishing himself enough. And it was Castiel agreeing to help him, if anything, that made Dean look ashamed of himself.

Castiel found it strange…the way Dean looked at Castiel at times, the way his soul burned, like it was fluorescing under Castiel’s attention. But he held Cas at a distance. Even if there was something about Castiel specifically that Dean…wanted…Castiel didn’t know what it was, and furthermore he knew that Dean didn’t truly want it. So Castiel let it rest and found himself alone.

Dean nearly stumbled, putting space between the two of them. “Listen,” he said, steady and regretful. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’ll get my shit together. It’s just…”

“Difficult,” Castiel murmured. Dean nodded slowly and Castiel found his anger with Dean to be unsustainable. Castiel had travelled down this road before, and it was Dean that had dragged Castiel out with his silent disapproval. Dean was broken, but Castiel had little else to believe in now.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast,” Dean said. “Want anything?” Castiel narrowed his eyes on him.

“I don’t need to eat,” he reminded him.

“Okay, but fair warning, that might change. Might as well get used to it now,” Dean replied, sounding resigned, and together they wandered into the kitchen.

They were met by two angels. Hester and Inias—they had served beneath him once, laid siege to Hell by his side, but that had been so long ago. Dean started, but looked to Castiel.

“Castiel,” Hester spoke up in greeting.

“These your friends?” Dean asked, glancing between them. Castiel almost instinctively felt for his blade in his sleeve, then cursed himself. He did not know why they’d come, but there was no sense in assuming the worst.

“Hester, Inias,” Castiel greeted.

“Lucifer is going to destroy Heaven, Castiel,” Hester said. “He’s already begun. We’ve come to tell you we are going to lock the Gates.”

“Hang on, lock the gates?” Dean asked, getting to his feet. “And retreat? You’re leaving us? The apocalypse is on its way and you’re _leaving?”_ Hester spared him a disgusted glance before looking back to Castiel.

She went on, “In the event that Lucifer makes it past the Gates, he will not be able to make it out without—”

“Slaughtering every angel in his way,” Castiel concluded. Hester’s expression pinched up, but she nodded. Castiel felt a cold sinking feeling deep in his gut. Dean would call it intuition. “Hester, when Lucifer reaches Heaven—are our superiors fighting against him or for him?” Hester’s jaw worked but she didn’t seem offended by his questioning.

“Lucifer may be an angel, and he may have supporters,” she said. “But that’s why we need angels that we can trust to stand against him. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other options.” Hester’s sneer told the truth. Castiel leaving his garrison, leaving Heaven, had disappointed her and in his absence he could see she had risen in the ranks. His return might even disadvantage her, but still she asked.

Castiel was good for little else but standing up to the devil. All the same, allowing himself to be locked in Heaven with those that disagreed—he could be a lamb for slaughter. Hester concluded, “Few of us truly want to capitulate to Lucifer when we could follow Raphael, when we could follow Michael.”

“Michael’s alive?” Castiel asked.

“We plan to trap Lucifer, locate Michael, and repeat this process, ideally with more obedient vessels,” she said, casting a look of disdain in Dean’s direction. “We are extending an olive branch. If you come with us, your previous transgressions will be forgiven.”

“So wait—” Dean spoke up. “Has it happened? The prophecy?”

“We don’t know where Michael is,” Hester ignored Dean outright. “But this is how we get things on track again.”

“And if we fail…” Castiel said. “What about Earth?”

“You have to choose now, Castiel,” Hester said. “When we close the Gates, you won’t be able to change your mind.” If he didn’t come with her, he’d be locked out like every other creature on this planet. “Fight the war in Heaven, or on Earth. Us, or them.” With Heaven or humanity.

“Then I have to choose them,” Castiel said, realizing his choice as he spoke it, standing his ground as he felt Dean shift at his side. Hester’s face fell.

“You have another day to change your mind,” she said. “Then the Gates will shut.” And with that ultimatum, she gave Dean a withering look and vanished.

“Damn,” Dean cursed in her absence. “They left us. The stinkin’ angels—they really _did _ leave us.” Castiel glared at Dean, feeling unappreciated. Dean looked over to him, eyes wide. “Present company excluded,” he offered. Castiel nodded. Of course, with Heaven shutting itself off from Castiel, he wouldn’t know how much of an angel he could classify as.

“That was a mistake, you know that, right?” Dean said, as though he were compelled to give Castiel a disclaimer. He was breathless. “Even _I_ know that. Humanity is the losing team. Maybe with the angels you’d have a shot.” He made it sound as though the choice Castiel had made was monumental—and perhaps it was, but it carried with it the implication that he could have ever made another choice.

Castiel decided to be blunt. “You don’t make choices based on whether or not you’ll succeed,” he replied. Dean coughed.

“Yeah, that’s called bad planning,” he said. He glanced skyward, gesturing around himself. “And as you can see, things don’t go my way half the time.”

“It’s true, you have terrible luck,” Castiel agreed, an attempt at comfort but Dean just laughed. Cas pressed on, solemn, “It’s my sincere wish that you and your brothers stop Armageddon, but I’m under no delusions that that’s likely or even possible.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas,” Dean replied, clearly sarcastic though his tone wasn’t biting. He wandered over to Bobby’s fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. Castiel eyed the bottle, untrusting, but at least it wasn’t hard liquor.

Dean had a wistful expression on his face. He understood. Castiel knew this was an uphill battle but Dean had taught him that some things were worth fighting for, and the preservation of this world was one of those things. That said, on the off chance that what Zachariah had shown Dean would come true, had any connection to the fate Dean was so passionate at denying, then…that was something Castiel should be concerned about.

“I, I don’t know the full extent of what I’ve done,” Castiel admitted. Dean looked at Castiel like that’s what he’d suspected. The decision had been impulsive, but not one Castiel yet regretted. Dean pried the caps off the bottles using the leverage of the hard edge of Bobby’s counter, something Bobby would likely disapprove of.

“Well, in the future, the angels left, you stayed,” he explained, heaving a sigh. He proffered a bottle and Castiel gingerly accepted it. Dean was apparently celebrating something, and his eyes were tentative on Cas, ghosting over him with some curiosity. “And somewhere along the way, you became human.” Castiel nodded slowly.

If Heaven became empty outside of the power of souls, then it was quite likely that Castiel would increasingly lose access to power, and his abilities altogether, over time. Perhaps even his Grace, though the thought was almost painful to consider.

“That makes sense,” he allowed. Zachariah, of course, _knew_ the logistics of Heaven. Castiel would not be hard-pressed to make the assumption that it was truly the future he had shown Dean, but, still, it tracked.

“Want me to tell you how you handle that?” Dean offered. “Or keep things spoiler-free?” He took a swig from his drink. This was the first time they’d truly spoken about the subject—their future together.

“Judging by your tone, not well,” Castiel observed. He brought his beer to his lips, tasting the subtleties of the hops, alpha and beta acids, along with the ethanol, the water. He couldn’t imagine how he could _possibly_ handle the loss of his abilities.

“Should you drink this early?” Castiel asked. On an empty stomach, no less. Dean glanced between Castiel and the bottles in his grasp, uncomprehending. Then he realized.

“Yeah, this is just—this is just to celebrate, I guess,” he promised, setting down his bottle on the counter and moving to putter around the kitchen. “You’re probably right, I drink too much. In the future, uh…it looked like you kinda took cues from me.” He fixed an apprehensive look on Castiel. “But whatever you do, don’t do as I do, Cas.” That was difficult advice to follow.

“What sort of cues?” Castiel asked, allowing himself to satisfy some sick curiosity. “Who do I become in the future?”

“A stoner,” Dean said frankly. “Which, on one hand, is well—hilarious.”

“Humour was never Zachariah’s strong point,” Cas murmured, tilting his head up in annoyance. Would his life truly become so empty without his Grace that he would be left to fill it with drugs?

He eyed the beer in his grasp. Dean said this was to celebrate with, not get drunk on, and as nice as Dean’s gesture was, it tasted molecular. Perhaps that too would change when Castiel fell. The thought wasn’t comforting. Every time Castiel had drunk these past few months, had Dean been living with the shadow of their shared future?

“And uh, you were pretty stuck on me,” Dean added. Cas’s eyes snapped back to him, narrowing. There was something about their relationship that Dean knew and Castiel didn’t. Clearly, even if it had been Zachariah’s model, his model of the future had not pressed Dean’s suspension of disbelief. Evidently, Castiel’s apparent loyalty flattered him.

It made sense, from both the perspective of Zachariah manufacturing a vision based around Dean, or as a glimpse into an actual future—Dean was part of the prophecy, and if Sam was gone, who else was there for Castiel fight alongside? “That makes sense,” Cas repeated, eyes calm and fixed on Dean, until Dean broke their gaze.

He coughed awkwardly and, after a moment’s hesitation, knocked his fist on Castiel’s back in a move Cas recognized was intended to be affectionate. Castiel looked at Dean in quiet wonder. Dean appeared—grateful. “Welcome to the team, Cas,” Dean said firmly, voice rough with gentleness. “Breakfast?” Castiel shook his head but took another sip of his beer out of politeness.

He had the urge to ask Dean more questions about their future, but, he supposed he had plenty of time left with Dean for answers. And he could sense that what had just transpired had drained a lot from Dean. He was already shouldering all responsibility. Castiel understood then, standing in Bobby’s kitchen, drinking a celebratory beer, why he would be standing by Dean’s side after five years, four years now. He took another drink and put his faith in Dean.


	6. Part 2

([art here](https://februyuri.tumblr.com/post/188656207245/for-a-way-to-go))

**Song recs:**

  * pinegrove – the metronome
  * horse to water – tall heights
  * minimum – charlie cunningham
  * tribulation – matt maeson
  * humbug mountain song – fruit bats
  * something purer – mystery jets
  * american hero – rainbow kitten surprise 

**Content warnings:**

  * food/eating (Ch 7 - June 2010, Ch 11 - February 2011)
  * alcohol/drinking (Ch 7 - June 2010, Ch 10 - January 2011, Ch 12 - June 2011)
  * drug use (Ch 11 - February 2011, Ch 13 - July 2011)
  * overdose (Ch 13 - July 2011)
  * violence (Ch 10 - January 2011, Ch 12 - June 2011, Ch 13 - July 2011)
  * violence between major characters (Ch 12 - June 2011)
  * sex (Ch 8 - August 2010, Ch 12 - June 2011)
  * self-harm ideation (Ch 12 - June 2011)
  * referenced trans/homophobia (Ch 8 - August 2010, Ch 11 - February 2011) 

_Feel free to ask for clarifications!_


	7. June 2010

_June 8, 2010 – Fairfax, South Dakota_

For the first few months after his mom died, Dean hadn’t talked much. It had bothered his dad, but, being a kid, Dean hadn’t known how to fix it. He’d been minding his father’s messes since as far back as he could remember but there were some things Dean couldn’t force and, eventually…things got better. He managed to put on a brave face for his little brother. Now he had no one to save face for and he was going the way of his dad.

Sam was gone. There was nothing Dean could do about that. You couldn’t perform an exorcism on a goddamn archangel, far as Dean knew. That was the thing about their consent, maybe. Once they were in, they were _ in_, and they’d claw you up on their way out, if they ever felt like leaving. And Sam had been tailor-made for Lucifer. He’d said yes. Somewhere along the way Dean must have raised him wrong. But again, no sense in crying over it.

It took some time, but Dean sobered up. Hung himself out to dry, made his apologies to Bobby and got informed that he wasn’t done making them, which was fair. Dean and Cas were on a ride over to Nebraska since Dean felt like he should speak to Jo in person, and Ellen for that matter. They’d both lost a lot in this and he hadn’t been the best to either of them.

He’d apologize to Cas again, properly, if he didn’t feel too damn ashamed to broach the topic. Cas seemed fine to let things lie and Dean, well, Dean kind of needed that right now. It had been kind of a kick in the teeth, to see Cas choose Earth over Heaven. What with the rest of the angels gone too, Dean knew it was time to choose Earth over feeling sorry for himself.

Which was why he was letting Cas pick the music. Cas had this knack for finding the dullest songs from the 70s and it was hell during night drives where Dean felt like he could run off the road napping to Cas’s choices, but Dean hadn’t earned the right to complain yet. He’d fucked up badly. The fact that Cas hadn’t kicked his ass was miracle enough.

“I’m gonna refuel,” Dean announced, pulling off the highway somewhere between the Missouri River and the state line. “Want anything?”

In the corner of his eye, Dean could see Cas look confused, eyes snapping back from the road side he’d been watching pass them by and landing on Dean, squinting. “Like what?” he asked.

Dean sighed. “I don’t know, man,” he said, turning off the engine. “It’s the end of the world. Go full hog. I’m buying.”

“Thank you for your offer,” Cas said carefully, a little awkwardly. “But I don’t require food.” Dean almost suggested that Cas wait in the car but Cas playing friendly felt like more than Dean deserved. Cas’d been doing that the past little while, probably tagging along just to keep Dean dry.

Didn’t take them long to get settled in the establishment. It wasn’t a super classy place, just your standard all-American diner, mostly populated by old people this time of day. Dean was going to try to make it to the heart of Nebraska by ten tonight, so this meal was gonna be his lunch and dinner. Breakfast too, technically. Cas and him took a table by the window and the waitress left them alone with their menus.

_ “Sure _ you don’t want anything?” Dean checked.

“I’m fine,” Castiel insisted, giving Dean a dirty look to boot. And still, Cas busied himself reading his menu even though he wasn’t planning to order off it. His tie was bent out of shape and he was frowning, looking focused.

“Cas,” Dean said. Cas looked up across at him. “Not that I don’t appreciate the company but uh…why are you here, man?”

Castiel folded up his menu and slid it beneath Dean’s. “Where else should I be?” he asked, looking up at Dean with such a hard look in his eye Dean looked away.

“How should I know?” Dean mumbled. Cas regarded him with a strange expression.

“Then, if it’s all the same, I’ll stay here,” Cas said, not without some bitchiness. That was, apparently, decided then.

Dean still didn’t get it, though. Maybe Cas was under the impression that Dean knew what the hell was going on, maybe he needed to believe it because he’d thrown away everything he’d ever known on points Dean had made, but Dean _ didn’t_. Dean had genuinely thought…that he’d be able to avoid all this. But Sam had said yes and Dean…Dean wasn’t any closer to understanding _ why—_it didn’t matter.

Point was, Dean had been switching things up, little details Lucifer would probably have a good laugh about, but Dean felt sure they had to add up to something eventually. Dean didn’t like the thought of things being preordained, and he wasn’t buying it, this destiny crap. But Cas did, or at least he had.

He’d said he’d thrown it out but…he was still an angel. Sort of. They were kind of programmed to perform a certain subroutine, touting the holy message, and Cas was probably the best of them for shrugging that shit off, or at least he tried, but how much could he really break free? If what Zach had showed Dean was real, was walking with Dean really Cas’s choice anyhow?

“You two ready to order?” the waitress asked, clicking her pen as she held up her notepad. Dean looked up at her, welcoming the distraction. She was in her thirties with wiry black hair and a dimple in one cheek.

Dean glanced over the menu quickly. “I’ll have the Deluxe ‘Heart Attack’ Burger and strawberry shake, side of fries, and just the water for my friend here,” Dean said, giving her a wink and a charming grin. She nodded, smiling despite herself, and wrote down his order.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised. Dean turned around to Cas and caught him staring at Dean like he was a bug in a jar.

“What?” Dean asked, defensively. Cas leaned back in his seat.

“Nothing,” he grunted in that growly voice of his. He was a far sight from throwing himself off a cliff for Dean, that was for sure. That was good, in a sense. They sat in silence for awhile, Dean gently running his fingers up and down the condensation outside his glass of water. Cas seemed bothered, but he could use his words, and eventually he did. “Where are we going?”

“Ellen and Jo’s,” Dean replied. Cas already started moving, engine revving, and Dean cut him off, “And before you zap me out there I just…it’s about the process, alright?” He put up his hands because Cas needed to get that. “And I need to figure out what I wanna say, so. We’re driving, alright?”

Castiel nodded, reluctant like grains in an hourglass. “I’m not sure I could transport you anymore,” he said, settling back in his seat. “Transporting myself is different from atomizing and rebuilding living organisms, which is essentially what ‘zapping’,” he did finger quotes, “constitutes.”

“Damn, no wonder it messed with my BMs,” Dean said. Cas gave Dean a dirty look and Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. Just then, the waitress came back with Dean’s burger and fries, setting down the plate with the milkshake next to it.

“Enjoy,” she trilled.

“I will,” he promised, tailing her with his eyes as she walked back to the kitchen with a bounce in her step. Cas took a fry off Dean’s plate. “Dude,” Dean grumbled, because he’d _ asked _ if Cas wanted anything. “Get your own.”

“You would have to pay for it,” Cas pointed out, stealing another fry and a generous scoop of Dean’s ketchup.

“Okay, well, we’re not married, what’s mine ain’t yours,” Dean said, pulling his plate closer because it was the _ principle _of the thing. He glared at Cas. “And also, maybe it’s time you start earning your keep.” Given that Cas looked like he was here to stay.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Castiel asked, stealing yet another fry off Dean’s plate and at this point Dean was going to put his hand up and order another plate for Cas specifically because he was _ this _ close from slapping the angel’s hand. “How _ did _ you and your brother fund your lifestyle?”

And that kind of sapped the life out of things. Dean coughed.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, mouth kind of hilariously stuffed with fries still, but he seemed genuinely apologetic. “If you don’t want to talk about him. If it’s too soon.”

“It’s—it’s fine, Cas,” Dean said. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He came off a little snappier than he’d wanted to. Dean glanced down at his plate, not feeling so hungry anymore.

He explained, “We’d get by on credit card fraud, generally, and Bobby helped us out when times were rough but other than that we uh—we hustled. Gambled, placed bets and played games with people who thought we were drunker or stupider than we were. That got us by.”

“You manipulated people,” Cas read between the lines.

“Yeah,” Dean said. He looked up at Cas again. What did Cas want? Dean wasn’t a good person.

“I’m not sure that I’d be very good at that,” Castiel decided, dragging Dean’s milkshake over to his side of the table.

“Yeah, well, your poker face is off the charts,” Dean said. “And I bet you could count cards, too.”

“Don’t all standard decks have fifty-two?” Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes. Dean laughed out loud and decided he could afford to let Cas steal a sip from his shake.

As Cas fretted over a community flyer left on the table and licked salt off his lips, Dean mimed to the waitress that he wanted another plate of fries, which she seemed to pick up on. “Why are we visiting the Harvelles?” Castiel spoke up, glaring over the shake.

“Okay, well, _ I’m _ visiting,” Dean said. _ “You’re _ tagging along.” He glanced down at the table, away from Cas. “Which is optional so, if you’re not into it, you can always leave, Cas.”

“We still don’t know where the archangel blades are, or indeed, much about the fallout of Lucifer’s confrontation with Michael,” Castiel reminded Dean. He clearly didn’t know what else to do but shadow Dean. Dean didn’t know either. Dean swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry man. I just…I need to clear some things up before I get back into the fight.” Cas blinked.

“Dean, I don’t expect you to single-handedly solve these problems,” he said, leaning in and fixing Dean with his x-ray stare. “At this point in time I don’t think they can be solved.” Cas leaned back, looking unsatisfied. “That is partly why I’m following you, for now.”

“Partly, huh?” Dean joked, kind of weakly, “What’s the rest of that? My good looks and charm?” He tried grinning at Cas to prove his point but Cas just pleaded the fifth.

“If what you said is true, my life is about to undergo an enormous change,” he said. “You know something about that.” That landed like a punch to the gut.

Before Dean could warn Cas that looking to Dean to cues on how to live his life was a terrible idea, the waitress set down a plate between them. “Another plate of fries, right?” she asked, beaming at Dean.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling back. He shook his head clear and pushed the plate towards Cas when she turned around. “There. Got you your own plate. Happy?”

“I’m not hungry,” Castiel decided, standing up, barely looking at the fries. “I’ve just remembered something. I’ll meet up with you in Nebraska.” Dean heard the telltale sound of whipping cloth and knew Cas had left him behind, with the bill to boot. Same old same old. Grumbling to himself, Dean finished up his burger and shake, gave the waitress a generous tip, and took the soggy fries to go.

_June 8, 2010 – Broken Bow, Nebraska_

Dean switched out the tape when he got back to the car and lived on Creedence Clearwater Revival until he hit Broken Bow. By the time he arrived outside Jo and Ellen’s house it was night, and everything was lit up blue-brown and tawny orange from the streetlamps. He parked Baby across the street and looked over the place. This was where his brothers had spent the last of their days. He took a breath. He walked up the steps.

Dean had never gotten particularly close to Ellen and Jo enough to stay at their home. Even hunts in Nebraska didn’t usually put him in their neck of the woods so it was cheaper for him to grab a hotel or charming B&B wherever he went. He’d offered to stay at one this time, but Jo was fixing up the couch for him. Even though he hadn’t apologized yet, it was clear the Harvelles had already forgiven him, or at least understood him.

He knocked on the door a few times and to his surprise, Cas answered. “Hello Dean,” he said with his gravelly voice, trench coat hanging broad over his stiff posture.

“Hey Cas,” Dean greeted, looking him over. He was casually holding a half-finished beer in two hands and had clearly made himself comfortable with whoever else was in the house while Dean’d been winding his way over. “You know, I gotta hand it to you,” Dean said. “You _ do _ save on gas.” Cas blinked at him.

“There’s leftovers if you want ‘em,” Jo spoke up from somewhere behind Cas. Cas moved to the side and Dean could see her standing in the kitchen, folding her twiggy arms angrily. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.” Yeah, she was still pissed.

“Ellen around?” Dean asked, making his way into the house.

“She’s still at work,” Jo replied, wandering over into the dimly lit living room so Dean had to chase her.

“Alright,” Dean said, putting his hands up. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” Jo snapped. She wasn’t going to make this easy, but she moved into the kitchen out of Cas’s sight.

“I came to apologize, Jo,” he said. She looked across at him, surprised, but not any more forgiving.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” she asked. Dean blinked.

She’d kick his ass if he tried to sweet talk her. “No,” he settled on honesty. “I’m just…” He splayed his fingers across the kitchen counter, all the anger and frustration he’d been holding onto draining out of him because he was just too damn tired to hold onto anything anymore. _ “Sorry, _ Jo.” The hard look in her eyes dulled.

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.” She bit her lip. “I know you…didn’t want things to turn out…the way they did…” Dean nodded, kept nodding, because suddenly he didn’t have anything better to do but nod and try not to tear up in front of her. The long day behind him was really hitting him now and her anger he could deal with, but her sympathy was a fucking killer.

“Yeah,” he choked. “Fat lot of good that did me.” They’d had this conversation before, more times than he could count. Jo could be more pigheaded and stubborn than all the Winchesters combined. He knew, up to the very end, she hadn’t thought it’d end like this, something they had in common. But he hadn’t been able to see another way that wouldn’t eventually result with his neck snapped. Still couldn’t. She nodded.

“I’m sorry, too, Dean, I should’ve told you earlier about what Adam and—” she started.

“Hey, come here,” Dean got out, because he couldn’t bear to add her regrets to his. He held up his arms and she barrelled into them, holding on. He blinked back tears, throat unbearably tight. “I never should’ve gotten you two involved,” he admitted into her neck. She hung onto him and swayed.

And fuck, he’d _ needed _a hug. They probably both had. “We’re with you, Dean, you know?” she said, pulling away but trailing her hands down his arms as she moved. He smiled, stressed. It wasn’t like they had much of a choice.

Here, today, Dean had managed walking like a regular human being like he hadn’t lost both of his brothers, and the kid he’d raised from diapers, all at once, to Satan. He’d eaten his burger, and listened to his tapes, and he hadn’t drank, and he’d even managed to say sorry to some of the people he’d hurt in the fallout. But really, he was glass this close to shattering and even if no one else knew, he did.

And he suddenly realized now would’ve been the opportunity to lean in, bat his eyelashes, find some common ground with Jo after all the years they’d danced around each other, after all they’d lost. But there’d been no mention of Jo and Ellen in 2014, and Bobby had been long dead. In the future he’d seen, there had only been Cas. And Chuck. Dean had pulled away from Sam out of fear of losing him, what did that mean for everyone else?

“You don’t have to be,” Dean told her, exhaustion weighing down his voice, putting his hand on hers. He wasn’t going to make her and Ellen follow him off his cliff. “But I appreciate it.”

The way she looked at him thoughtfully with those wide brown eyes made him think she was wondering if he was going to try something, or if she should. But they just stood there, feeling like shit, and for a time that was sort of enough. “So…” Jo spoke up, wiping her eyes. “What’s the plan?” He cleared his throat and stepped back from her.

“It’s a work in progress,” he admitted. “But I’ll keep you in the loop.” There was no way Jo and Ellen knew more on the subject than Cas, and there was no sense to putting that burden on them. He’d come here to apologize, not assign homework.

“You stickin’ around tomorrow?” Jo asked. “Mom’s gonna come home in like an hour and then she’s probably going straight to bed to sleep in. Stay for breakfast at least?”

“Bobby found a case in Illinois, so I’m heading out in the morning,” he said apologetically. “Maybe Cas could stick around but…I gotta get back on the horse.” She nodded. “Thanks for putting us up for the night.”

Jo gave his arm another squeeze and then turned her head to speak to Cas. “Sure you wouldn’t like me to set up somewhere for you to sleep, Cas?” she asked.

“I’m a celestial being,” Castiel spoke up grouchily from the other room.

“Okay, tough guy,” Jo sassed, rolling her eyes on Dean’s behalf. “If you ever celestially need anything, celestially let me know.” She looked over the room. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and turn in. It’s…good seeing you again.” She smiled. Up close Dean could see she hadn’t been sleeping well and had that kind of flushed paper-thin skin of someone who’d been crying a lot. Still, she looked nice just then in the dim light.

“Night Jo,” Dean said, voice cracking a bit. She smiled again before leaving the room.

It was weird to not have her tugging at his coattails, trying to join him on a hunt. Ellen and Jo had picked up hunting again, a real mother and daughter duo, and something about that might’ve smoothed out Jo’s desperation to run head straight for danger. Or, maybe it had something to do with Adam. Or even…

“Hey, Cas, where does Ellen work?” Dean called to Cas, trying to get himself away from his thoughts. He wandered over to the fridge and pulled it open, lighting the kitchen up with a white fluorescent glow.

“A bar,” Castiel replied, following Dean into the kitchen. Dean caught his eyes narrow as he added another one of his astute observations, “I don’t think she enjoys her job.”

“I can see that,” Dean scoffed but then felt bad for laughing. Hell of a downgrade when they lost the Roadhouse. Not to mention that was a place she’d built with Bill. God, life was shit to good people. “She and Jo still hunting these days?”

“I believe so,” Castiel replied. Jo or Ellen had made some sort of chicken potpie. Dean wasn’t sure how well it’d microwave but he hadn’t eaten since the diner and he was starving.

“Figured,” Dean said, scooping out some pie onto a plate and setting it in the microwave before wandering around hunting down the cutlery.

Cas snapped his fingers and the lights in the kitchen came on. Dean winced. “Thanks,” he muttered, finding the cutlery drawer and grabbing a fork. “Sure you should be wasting your juice like that?” Truth be told, Dean wasn’t completely well-versed on the logistics of Grace, but he figured it’d be like saving water. Castiel didn’t reply and Dean grumbled to himself and finished his pie before heading to the bathroom to clean up.

After taking care of business, Dean wandered over to the couch, barely able to keep his eyes open. He was exhausted. He hated leaving Baby behind anywhere, except maybe at Bobby’s, but he really felt like he should consider taking advantage of Cas’s perks before his angelic membership was revoked because Dean was completely wiped from driving.

It’d been some time since he’d slept in a house that wasn’t Bobby’s. It was weird. It made Dean feel like he’d missed the last step of a staircase. He roughed up the pillow Jo had provided, and lazily reclining on the sofa, pulling up the sheets to cover himself.

He was wearing a shirt and some sweatpants he’d picked up specifically for occasions like these, to protect the women of the house’s sensibilities and his own. Still, he felt naked and vulnerable in a way he didn’t in his car, or at Bobby’s, or in any random motel room across America where he could lock the door. Ellen and Jo, far as Dean knew, didn’t know every last detail about Dean and he didn’t need them asking questions. He pulled his blanket up to his chin, feeling himself start to sweat in the summer heat.

Just as he was about to finally drop off, a silhouette he’d been staring at shifted and he realized it belonged to someone. “Cas!” Dean got out hoarsely, trying to get his heart rate back to something reasonable. “That you?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. Dean groaned out loud, sitting up. Cas was gonna kill him before the apocalypse got a chance, and he wasn’t even _ trying_.

“Dude,” Dean complained. “What the _ hell? _ Were you _ staring _at me?”

“I was thinking about our mission,” Cas said.

“Okay, well, it’s friggin’ _ creepy,” _ Dean grouched.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can wait outside,” Cas offered, though there was still that hint of bitchiness underlying it. At least _ that _was kind of human. The thought of Cas standing outside on Ellen’s porch waiting for morning like a robot wasn’t any more of a comforting image for Dean. And it surely wouldn’t be a welcoming sight for Ellen by the time she came home.

“I—Jesus, can’t you—can’t you do something?” Dean asked. If it was Dean, he’d take up a hobby like learning guitar or pottery, not watching his friends while they snoozed. “Like—check out Jerusalem or something? See if they’re got any new archangel lore?”

“They don’t,” Castiel said. “Which is just as well because I’m not sure that if I travelled that far that I’d be able to come back.” Dean groaned. Cas was already heading towards being grounded for good. Obviously he could make his way around the states, but it was better Cas stick to one continent in case he got himself in a situation he couldn’t come back from.

“At least sit down, you’re stressing me out,” Dean said. Cas obeyed, finding a chair to settle into, sitting stiffly in his coat.

“Is this what I have to look forward to?” he sulked, looking over Dean bundled up on the couch. “Hours of inaction just to maintain basic metabolic and cognitive function?” So that’s what had been eating him.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Dean said, leaning back onto the couch and rolling his shoulders, trying to get comfortable again. Cas frowned. He obviously didn’t want to try it. And Dean got where he was coming from. Dean took sleep when he could get it, but could he shut himself off long enough to sleep more than four hours most nights? Nah. If it wasn’t nightmares, it was guilt that got Dean. There was always another case, another town to get to, another highway to drive down. “Dreams are a plus,” he offered.

“You often have nightmares,” Castiel murmured, like he’d read Dean’s mind. Hell, he probably had. Dean’s throat clenched. How Cas knew stuff like that always made Dean feel kind of lost.

“Well, one time I dreamt I was in a threesome with Dr. Piccolo and Dr. Sexy, don’t ask—so, you gotta take the good with the bad,” he said. Cas nodded like Dean’d just said something profound.

“I went to Kansas today, after the diner,” he said. “When we were speaking, I remembered the rings your brothers were collecting.” Dean felt cold, but he didn’t move. Just froze and let Cas say his peace even though he really, really didn’t feel up to talking about his brothers. Thankfully, Cas seemed to switch topics. “Some of the Horsemen are old as Earth itself, others, specifically Death, predate it. I was only able to find one ring,” Castiel said.

“You found a ring?” Dean asked, shifting, surprised.

“Just the one,” Cas replied. “I’ve given it to Jo…it was Pestilence’s ring.” Dean whistled.

“So,” he said. “Does that mean no more zombie apocalypse?”

“No,” Castiel replied, because of course. “The plans Pestilence set in motion before his demise will still come to fruition. But, he won’t be adding to our troubles.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Dean grunted, shifting again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucifer kept Death’s ring,” Cas went on. “The other Horsemen aren’t as necessary…they’ve fulfilled their part in the prophecy, but Death is eternal. There must be away to get the rings back and if we do, we would be able to trap Lucifer in the cage as your brothers had planned.” And they were right back to talking about Dean’s brothers.

“You were right at the diner, Cas,” Dean said, the skin on his knuckles tight, turning over onto his side. “It _ is _ too soon.” And Cas, thankfully, knew enough about Dean and humanity to let the words settle where they fell.

_ June 9, 2010 – Broken Bow, Nebraska_

“Rise and shine,” Ellen called, sarcasm and the sunlight from outside cutting through Dean’s sleep. “You can grab a shower and breakfast will be done by the time you are.” Hissing, Dean sat upright. Looked to be pretty early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes.

“Thought you were gonna sleep in,” he mumbled, throat thick with sleep.

“Thought _ you _ were gonna skip town,” Ellen shot back. At second glance, she looked just as tired and grouchy as he felt, hair swept up in a messy bun. Dean squinted. “We’ve got a lot to talk about before you do.” He nodded, getting to his feet. He loped his way to the bathroom with a change of clothes, holding his blanket around his waist.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jo grumbled as he passed her, disgusted, assuming the worst. Dean gave her a wink and let her.

He washed quickly, using Jo and Ellen’s rose-scented shampoo and feeling all the fancier for it. He toweled his hair dry, trying to mould his damp hair into something resembling a style but he already knew he’d have to dig up some hair gel in the Impala if he really wanted to look presentable. Pulling his old clothes on, which undercut some of the enjoyment of feeling clean, Dean headed back out into the kitchen.

Everyone was sitting around Ellen’s small table, even Cas, where Ellen had made some eggs, toast, and sausages; breakfast of champs. Awkwardly, Dean moved to sit down across from her. “I wanted to start by apologizing, Ellen,” he began.

“What’s past is past,” Ellen cut him off dismissively. She raised her cup of coffee to her mouth, taking a long sip, eyes fixed on him. “What are your plans for what’s to come?”

“Right,” Dean said, running a hand through his damp hair. “Cas went back to look for the Horsemen’s rings, could only find one. They’re out.”

“Just like that?” Jo asked, a little defensive. “We already _ have _ one.”

“I don’t believe I’m capable of locating the rest, just as I am,” Cas explained frankly.

“Plus, they didn’t work,” Dean said. “I wouldn’t waste any more time on them than we already have.” Cas shifted like Dean had ruffled his proverbial or literal feathers but didn’t say anything. Jo wasn’t that easy though.

“We don’t even know if they got to _ use _ the rings or not,” she said.

“Okay, what’s the alternative?” Dean said, trying not to let the stress get to him. “That my brothers said ‘yes’ because they felt like trying something new that day?” Clearly they’d had a plan involving the rings, a plan Dean hadn’t been part of, and it’d failed.

“We don’t know why they said yes,” Jo said quietly.

“Let’s not talk about that,” Ellen said, mediating. “Let’s say the rings don’t work. What’s the alternative?”

“There’s something else that will,” Dean said, and he spoke with a confidence he hadn’t carried for a long time. “Ellen, what do you know about angel blades?”

Ellen looked over the counter at Dean and flickered her gaze towards Cas. “Does wonders on vermin,” she said.

“There is a specific class of angels called the archangels that are vastly more powerful and have unique weapons,” Castiel said. “Archangels can only be killed by archangel blades.”

“So, you’re going after archangels,” Jo said. “The strongest thing out there.”

“Catching one won’t be easy,” Dean admitted. Nabbing Raphael had been like fitting a rich man through the eye of a needle, though it had worked out, kind of.

“We have all the ingredients necessary,” Castiel told Jo. They still had some Holy Oil leftover in the trunk, and more at Bobby’s. “Just not an—unlimited supply.”

“Yeah, you’re on the No Fly List,” Dean made the mistake of saying out loud and if looks could kill. Dean put up his hands, sighing, _ “We, _we’re on the List.”

“I can still fly,” Cas said, still looking P.O.’d. “Just…not inexhaustibly,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Jo said. “How do we even find out where these guys are?”

“Well, we’ve assumed Gabriel was killed by Lucifer but it’s just as likely that he’s gone into hiding,” Castiel said. Dean glanced over at Cas, surprised. From what Dean had heard Gabriel was pretty dead, but Cas didn’t seem that sure. “Michael’s location is a mystery and Raphael is in Heaven right now preparing for Lucifer’s siege. Lucifer, of course, would never surrender his Blade.”

“So we’re gonna knock on Heaven’s door,” Dean said. He wasn’t completely joking.

“Sounds foolproof,” Jo said dryly. Dean ignored her.

“Lucifer’s in Heaven, right? So, we got time before he starts really messing with us. We got, what, four—five years?” Dean said but, even as he said it, he knew it was time they were rapidly running out of. “Time to find Gabriel, Michael. See if we can’t get our hands on Raphael. We’ll throw Lucifer a nice welcome party when he comes back down, do what we should’ve done to begin with.”

“You’re talking about killing Sam,” Ellen observed. Dean opened his mouth.

When he finally got the words together to speak, he tried not to sound choked about it. “My brother’s dead, Ellen,” he said. Of all the people in the world, Dean was the one who couldn’t afford to get sentimental.

“Archangels,” Castiel murmured. “Don’t typically respect their vessels. And he was possessed by Lucifer.” Enough said.

“What about Adam?” Jo spoke up, not satisfied by the explanation like her mom was.

“If Adam said yes…” Castiel trailed off. Dean shook his head.

“Put it this way,” he said. “We gotta hope they’re dead.” Jo’s jaw dropped. She looked at Dean, expecting he would change his mind, switch tracks and give her something more like hope but…he couldn’t. As they’d agreed the night before…neither of them wanted things to turn out the way they were. But the world kept spinning, and they’d have to roll with it to keep from stumbling.

“Right,” Ellen spoke up, Jo dropped her gaze to the table, forehead pinched with concern. “Well, I don’t know how we can help you boys but…”

“You don’t have to,” Dean said, reaching across the table. “Just keep a look out.” He gave Cas a wink. “We’ll have this sorted out by Christmas.” Ellen somehow found it in herself to crack him a little smile and she patted his knuckles kindly though it was clear she didn’t believe him.

_ June 16, 2010 – Sikeston, Missouri_

The case out in Illinois had been a bust, which hadn’t done wonders for Dean’s mood. Since Jo and Ellen, Dean’d been wandering kind of aimlessly, trying to find some sense of direction, get a jump on Lucifer. But he hadn’t found any new information, and he couldn’t even put together a working case.

Thankfully, Bobby dug Dean up another case so there Dean went, chasing cars. He put on his music before Cas could get any bright ideas, and they set out across the highway, settling in for a long drive south. The visit to the Harvelles—it had to be done—left Dean feeling even more drained than when he’d started.

Because yeah, he’d been bluffing. Dean couldn’t fuck around for four years, he needed this solved _ now_. The Croatoan virus, god help them if _ that _came back, had this fun consequence where the longer someone stayed infected, the more desperate and dangerous they got. The longer the apocalypse went on, the stronger Lucifer would become. Everything in between was just a waste of time but there wasn’t much more Dean could do except try to keep his shit together.

At a gas station where Dean was filling up, Cas had asked for pocket money. Dude apparently liked to read gossip mags and Dean was not inclined to judge. But when Cas came out of the Gas-N-Sip, with Dean already primed to pull out of the lot, the haunted look on his face made Dean reconsider. Dean climbed out of the driver’s side and paced over to Cas.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean said, grabbing him beneath his arms as he stumbled in front of Dean, dragging him over to his seat in the Impala. He cupped Cas’s cheeks, trying to get his attention, Cas was pale as hell and fading. “What’s happening? You hurting anywhere?” Cas swayed where he sat. “Hey! Hey, stay with me.”

“I feel…faint,” Cas muttered, eyes unfocused. “And my stomach—has been _ hurting.” _ And he sounded like he was really in pain, and Dean’s brain skimmed through the usual suspects—anything from appendicitis to food poisoning, but Cas hadn’t eaten anything bad, Cas hadn’t eaten _ anything_, and with that Dean realized. “Like it’s—”

“Like you’re hungry?” Cas looked up at him, horrified, then away, like Dean had caught him in some dumb lie.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, stoic as a statue.

“It’s good you told me,” Dean lectured and Cas just wilted beneath his hands. “We’ll get some food in you and you’ll probably be set for another month. You—_sit.” _ Dean resisted sprinting over to the station but maybe his steps were broader than usual.

He bought Cas some taquitos and a pizza box, grabbing a ginger ale to expand the food groups of Cas’s first real meal. He raced back to the Impala, nearly getting run over by some dick driving too fast for gas station lot anyhow. The dude even had the gall to _ honk _ at Dean and Dean volleyed a quick ‘screw you too’ but had bigger problems.

Back in front of Cas, he kneeled down and passed him the food. “Eat a little, then drink a little. Nice ‘n’ slow, I don’t want you launching your lunch on my leather.” Castiel nodded, fingers carefully prying open the pizza box.

Dean got in the driver’s seat and drove them out into the parking lot where he stopped and turned the engine off again. Cas had started to eat a little faster, probably finally realizing just how hungry he was, but that was no good. “Hey, easy, _ easy,” _ Dean scolded, and Cas settled down again, chewing slowly for Dean.

Dean put on the music, stuck on fucking Simon & Garfunkle of all things, but he let it play itself out for Cas’s sake. “I don’t know how much you gotta eat,” Dean told Cas. “How much of this is human or angel. Just go slow.” Castiel nodded, mouth full. He’d really been starving. Dumb angel had been too proud to admit that he’d needed food, or too scared to admit it because of what it meant for him.

Dean thumbed through the magazine Cas had picked up. It was one of those ‘Queen Elizabeth Gives Birth to Alien Triplets’ type of deals. “Let’s check the news,” Dean tutted skeptically, looking over the magazine, then up at Cas, raising his brow. “Did you know Jennifer Aniston is actually a lizard person?”

“Selkie, actually,” Castiel said, not looking too amused. “But sometimes, you humans get things right and…given that Heaven and I aren’t on speaking terms, I’ve had to resort to…other sources.” He gestured vaguely at the tabloid.

“You’re looking out for signs of the archangels, huh?” Dean realized.

“I’m looking for signs of anything,” Castiel replied, still a little pale but looking healthier all the same. He sat up in his seat, folding up the box of pizza and fitting his pop into the cupholder. There were plenty of signs nowadays, earthquakes, flashfloods, forest fires, but nothing that could be directly tied to the angels or demons as far as Dean knew.

“Feeling better?” he asked, wiping his hands clean.

“Yes,” Castiel allowed. “I suppose I should thank you.” He didn’t look super grateful. He was probably still more bothered that he’d had to eat.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Just know I’m not gonna teach you how to wipe your ass or jerk off,” Dean said. “I’ll give you a tip, though—wash your hands.” He winked and Castiel looked disgusted. Dean laughed at his own joke, spirits half-carried by the relief of a crisis averted.

Confident now that Cas wasn’t going to pass out or throw up, Dean finally pulled out of the lot and got back onto the road, listening to Cas’s shaky breathing. He hadn’t thought Cas would need to breathe, but it seemed to bring him some relief. And there wasn’t a lot recently Cas could do lately to feel better about himself, especially now that he’d nearly fainted from hunger.

Cas’s own family wouldn’t talk to him, forcing him to skim conspiracy theories and ads for magnetic bracelets (which Cas took a lot of satisfaction in debunking, Christ it was like Adam had never left). So, Cas wasn’t exactly at the top of the top of the world, but at least Dean had helped this much even if. Even if it was technically Dean’s fault Cas was in this mess to begin with.

As hard as it was for Dean to settle, he’d spent enough of his life rushing headfirst into danger. He’d have to bide his time, keep himself in check. Lord knows he couldn’t afford to just fuck things up again. Still, Cas was paying the price for Dean’s lazy pace at fixing the mess they were in. He’d have to strike some sort of balance between not charging straight ahead and not wasting everyone’s time.

“Listen, Cas, just because they said yes, doesn’t mean things are going to get as bad as they did,” Dean spoke up as he drove, because they could still salvage this. “I know things don’t look like it now but…we can still fix all this in time for Lucifer.” Cas didn’t have to become full human just because he was feeling the symptoms now.

“Dean…” Castiel said. “The war in Heaven _ is _ the war on Earth…when angels die, so do some of our chances to win here. That’s the fate I’ve left them to.” And Christ, that was his family; Dean hadn’t even thought of that. It wasn’t like they were just his shitty coworkers, they were his _ family _ and Dean had taken Cas away from them.

Dean hadn’t paid much mind, but it was clear that a lot of this had been taking a toll on Cas. The fact that his angel powers were becoming increasingly limited on how far he could travel, who he could take with him. “You didn’t abandon them, Cas,” Dean said. “I want you to know that.” Whether Cas believed him or not was something else but as far as Dean was concerned, he was telling the truth. Or at least, he hoped he was.

_ June 30, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

And as Zach had promised Dean, the angels left. It was difficult to say what exactly had happened. One night, the sky lit up with a thousand unpredicted shooting stars. Unexplained phenomena were becoming the norm now, but it was strangely beautiful, even to folks who knew what it meant. Lucifer was stirring up Hell on Earth, but he was playing around in Heaven, too.

According to Cas, chatter on angel radio was getting quieter by the day—angels were leaving, or dying. A few weeks later, Cas got a papercut. Dean was skeptical that the angels had ‘given up,’ like his 2014 counterpart had told him they would. In Dean’s experience, angels were stubborn bastards and the whole thing smelled like brimstone.

Still, Dean could figure out why Michael had ignored his call in 2014. Or maybe something had happened to Michael in between now and that future…hard to say. Dean still didn’t know what exactly he’d seen back in 2009. Something Zach had cooked up just to fuck with Dean’s head? A peek into some alternative universe where everything played out a certain way? A genuine look into the future?

Again, Zach had been involved and Dean had enjoyed killing him too much to even wonder if he should ask about the details and technicalities. But, Zach had been right about one thing—Sam _ had _ said yes. Maybe that was just a free space on the bingo but. As optimistic as Dean was trying to be, this was a nail in his shoe, another rock in his pocket weighing him down.

They knew the reason why Michael had been the only one who could have killed Lucifer was not strictly because of destiny, but because he’d been an archangel and apparently only archangels, or their suits, could kill archangels. There were just four archangels, and Michael’s coldshoulder had knocked the number down to just two, maybe one and a half, so that’s what he’d been spending his time on. Looking for Gabriel and Raphael. Either, any.

Cas’s abilities were getting worse by the day. One time, outside Louisiana, Dean caught sight of Cas in the passenger’s—snoring. Dude was changing. When Dean had woken him up, Cas had looked absolutely fucked up about the fact that he’d been asleep and he’d immediately zapped himself away to have a crisis. That habit still annoyed Dean, but he could console himself with the fact that it probably wouldn’t be a habit for much longer. Not for a lack of trying. It was just the end of the world.

Ellen had called earlier, described a case in Oregon that sounded an awful lot like the Croatoan virus. Cas had done the honourable thing and promised to check it out. That had been five hours ago. And as time passed, waiting turned to drinking, until Dean was just sitting there, half-way through Bobby’s fridge, wasted.

“Dean,” Cas hissed when he finally showed up, almost offended on Dean’s behalf.

“Cas!” Dean said, voice coming out a little slurred but surprisingly cheery to his own ears. “You made it. Drink?” Cas’s eyes were so fucking cold Dean half expected him to use his last drops of Grace to shatter the bottle in Dean’s grasp. But he didn’t. Instead he pulled up the chair next to him, taking the bottle and a long swig, not even bothering to pour himself a glass.

“So, it’s happening,” Dean said, feeling heavy, watching Cas go.

“Yes,” Cas said, resurfacing to take a breath, voice made hoarser with whisky. “It’s the virus.” Dean took in a deep, shaky breath.

“Damn,” he said.

Castiel just looked impassive and he finished off the bottle. “I want another,” he said firmly, face a bit slack, setting the bottle down on the counter with a tidy _ clink. _

“You sure, man?” Dean said, split between feeling protective of Bobby’s booze and concerned for Cas. “You should take it easy; you could be a lightweight now.” 

Wrong thing to say. “Another,” Cas repeated, and his voice was so low it was basically a growl. Dean threw up his hands in surrender.

Cas left his side in search for booze. “You know, that’s not how you cope with bad news, right?” Dean called, even though he knew damn well he’d started it.

“I learned from the best,” Cas growled back from somewhere in the fridge. Dean let that one land, letting himself feel equal parts insulted and impressed. Dean was great at giving good advice he couldn’t follow, but then, it’s not as though Cas was a fantastic listener.

Twenty minutes passed and Cas was sleeping like a baby, curled up with a bottle or three on the couch. Yeah, he was a lightweight, or at least lighter. It’d be funny, if it didn’t leave Dean with a bad taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t have offered Cas a drink. One of them had to have their shit together; he and Sam had always seemed to take turns. It wasn’t as though Dean hadn’t pulled similar shit on bad nights, but that was the problem.

Cas wasn’t his problem, though. He looked uncomfortable on the couch, neck bent at an awkward angle with the armrest, one leg thrown over the edge of the couch and the other hanging off in front of it. Dean was not going to gather him up and move him to the bed, he wasn’t Cas’s keeper. That was just as well, he was a shit keeper.

He did, however, pull the bottle out of Cas’s hand, setting it on the table. God, what an ugly mess. “Hey, c’mon,” he insisted, gently shaking Cas’s shoulder.

Cas woke up, letting out a disgruntled babble. “What?” he grumbled, when his brain caught up to the situation.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Dean said. Dean wasn’t about to offer up his bed either, but it was hurting his neck just looking at the way Cas was sleeping. Cas heaved a sigh, glaring, folding his arms, and turning around on the couch away from Dean childishly.

“I may not serve Heaven, but I don’t serve you,” Cas growled out as his first instinct upon waking.

“Suit yourself,” Dean scoffed at the dramatics.

Cas spoke up suddenly then, voice tense. “I fell asleep again,” he said, pulling himself up into a seated position. It killed Dean, how lost Castiel looked, how scared. He ran his hands across his face in a distinctly stressed, human gesture.

“It’s just sleep, man,” Dean said, trying to lighten the mood, feeling bad for waking him. It was probably weird, going from an all-powerful angel to a fragile human that needed nap-time. It would’ve been endearing, if Cas didn’t look so fucking ripped up about it.

“Is it?” Cas asked sullenly, looking up from his cupped hands to meet Dean’s gaze. That was still a bit dramatic but…Dean could see where Cas was coming from.

“You know, nothing bad’s gonna happen if you take a little nap,” he promised. “Hell, if you wanna take a siesta right now, I’ll keep watch.” He gave Cas a winning smile.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to sleep on the couch,” Cas said, eyes glazed.

“No offense, but you look like you could drop off anywhere,” Dean said. “But if you want in my bed, you’ll have to buy me a drink first.” He gave Cas a little wink which fortunately didn’t even register. Dean didn’t know what the fuck he was saying.

“I’m not afraid of sleep,” Cas spoke up, earnest, shaking his head. “I just don’t want to waste time.” He looked down at the floor, dissatisfied. “How do you humans live like this?” he muttered. “Eight hours a night—that’s a _ third _ of your life. I understand the cognitive importance, but this was clearly an oversight on God’s part.” Grouchy.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Dean said diplomatically, feeling grateful for the distraction Cas provided. In all honesty, Dean was glad Cas was here. In the wake of such god-awful news, Dean felt grateful to not be alone. Cas glanced at Dean, a soft look in his eyes.

“Thank you, for the drinks,” he said, incredibly formal all of a sudden. He picked himself off the couch, his coat hanging off his frame in a way that made him look like a little kid.

“Seriously man, spend the night,” Dean said. “You’re drunk. You’re tired. The world is not going to end any more between today and tomorrow. Sit back down.” Cas obeyed easily, sinking back into the couch, seeming pretty tipsy. “Friends don’t let friends drink and fly.”

Cas’s eyes flickered up to Dean. “We are friends,” he observed quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean said, laughing a little bitterly. “I mean, not for nothing Cas, but it’s not like I’m spoiled for choice at the moment.” Cas nodded.

“Still,” he said. “I…appreciate it.” God, that was sad.

“Don’t…” Dean said, suddenly feeling the alcohol, and somehow very young but very old, all at once. “Just don’t leave tonight.” Like it was an easy answer to a question that Cas had never asked. Cas shook his head slowly, still obviously a little disoriented.

“I should go,” he said. “While I’m still able to.”

“I’ll wake you up in a couple hours,” Dean offered, trying not to sound desperate for the company. “You’re not in any state to leave, and you know it.” He hedged his bets. “Might as well stay.” _ Please. _ Cas hesitated, leaning back in his seat, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Perhaps a little while,” he allowed in that gravelly voice of his. For the first time in a long, Dean felt something like—he couldn’t name it, whether it was excitement or gratitude, or just some type of vague happiness. But it felt good, whatever it was.

“Uh, I’ll grab you a blanket,” Dean said, feeling a little breathless and disoriented.

By the time he’d gotten together the spare and a pillow and come back to the living room, Cas was sitting upright, seeming totally sober. Must’ve had enough angel mojo left to flush his system, but Dean had no such advantage. He was still a little drunk.

Cas fixed a curious gaze on Dean, looking neutral but not entirely kind either. Dean tossed the blanket on the couch, feeling like an idiot holding it. “Changed your mind?” he asked lightly. Cas got to his feet slowly, keeping close eye contact with Dean as he stood to his full height, hovering in his space.

“I’m not your brother, Dean,” Cas said simply. Dean recoiled, feeling cold, then hurt. They hadn’t really talked about Sam yet, not directly. Cas looked regretful, stepping away to give Dean more room. And in the next moment he’d vanished, without as much as a goodnight.


	8. August 2010

_ August 13, 2010 – Beulah, North Dakota _

Dean had started stashing away essentials, basically making an apocalypse bunker out of Bobby’s house and the Impala. Because Armageddon was going to happen, maybe even _ was _ happening. So, Dean went through everything he could remember from 2014 with Bobby, including the fact that Bobby was dead because he’d cottoned on to Dean’s tone pretty quick and Dean couldn’t lie to him.

Overall, the whole thing still felt like one long, boring nightmare. Most days Dean still couldn’t believe that Sam had actually said yes. He couldn’t believe his half-brother, for as briefly as he’d known him, was dead or gone—_again_. And Dean just kept hoping that the Croatoan virus wasn’t coming back. That if he and Cas and the other hunters they’d gotten in the loop about it could stamp it out.

Staying at Bobby’s, Dean always knew he’d be provided for given that Bobby’s auto salvage shop was still—_around_, despite the tanking economy. Still, Dean didn’t want to be a drain on Bobby any more than he had been and figured if he played his cards right he could rustle up gas money at least. He wasn’t going to poison the well, so he went a state over for it.

“You know, you didn’t have to tag along, Cas,” Dean said, trying not to feel too irritated.

“If my powers are failing, it’s best I learn how you have survived these past few years,” Castiel said, somewhere between the depression and acceptance stages of grief regarding his impending humanity. Dean rolled his eyes.

He opened his wallet and pressed a twenty into Cas’s hand. “How ‘bout you buy some nice lady a drink,” he said, maybe a little condescendingly, not feeling up to babysitting tonight. Dean worked better solo for this kind of thing anyway, especially now. Sam had…but that wasn’t an option anymore. Besides, Cas didn’t want to replace Sam anyhow.

“I can be useful, Dean,” Cas frowned, reproachful.

Just then a woman caught Dean’s eye. She was wearing a short dress and a tight jacket, leaning over a pool table as she took her shot. She had long blonde hair and was pretty damn good at pool by the looks of it. Glancing up, she gave him a little secretive smile before turning back to her game. Pretty eyes.

Dean had honestly just been planning to hustle up some cash, but…it’d been awhile. Being busy with Cas and trying to stop the apocalypse and all. Even now, in all technicalities, he was with Cas—or rather Cas had tailed him out here with nothing better to do. For all Cas’s bluster about Dean’s clinginess, dude stuck to him like gum.

“Well, watch and learn,” Dean said, kind of spiteful, giving Cas a winning smile.

“Dean, don’t—” Cas began, realizing pretty quick what Dean was planning. His eyes darted around nervously, but Dean had already passed through the crowd, strolling up to the woman at the pool table.

Sometimes, especially when he’d been younger, fucking someone had been enough, especially when he was going half-crazy from loneliness. Navigating bars could be tricky but he’d perfected his rhythm for it over the years. Sex could be a need and a minefield and with strangers he could usually get away with a well-timed _ “thanks, but no thanks” _ accompanied by a _ “I just want to make you feel good tonight, sweetheart”_. Most women weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And maybe he was being cocky, but he could swear he felt her look on him like it was something solid to the touch. She was interested, too. If they got to any sort of point, he could play it by ear. He swiped a cue stick and gave her another glance. She looked just as good up close.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asked, gently tapping the base of his pool cue against the table. She smiled at him, though the guy she’d been playing with didn’t look half as pleased, a muscle in his jaw giving Dean a little twitch in greeting.

“Depends on whether you’re any good,” she replied, tossing a teasing expression at the man she was playing with.

“Take a chance on me?” Dean suggested, giving her a little grin, the kind that showed off his teeth in a way he knew women liked. She looked him over, chewing on a smile. “I’m Dean,” he introduced himself, feeling a little cocky. “Dean Winchester.”

“Ann Marie,” she said, a small smirk on her lips. She held out her hand, and Dean shook it. Who could say if it was her real name, he’d only given his out of the desire to not feel like a creep. Still, Dean tried it out.

“Ann Marie,” he echoed. He gave her a quick appraisal, letting her hand free from his then. “Suits you.” She smiled.

“So does yours,” she replied. Dean nearly joked that he’d picked it out himself but he didn’t know her well enough to judge if that was the best way to broach the topic. Just then, a passing waitstaff shoved her into Dean and she moved her hand onto his arm to steady herself so, grateful for the distraction, he managed to keep it to himself.

“You mind, Ann Marie?” he asked her, glancing at the table.

“No,” she smirked, rolling the billiard balls idly across the table. The guy she’d been playing with took his as a sign to leave, though she gave him a little wink. Dean winked too, and he caught her bite back a laugh at that. _ “If _ you can keep up,” she said. “I was just about to start a new game.” He scoffed.

“I swear I’ll do my best,” he said. He grinned. “Scout’s honour.”

She started setting up the cue balls. Dean turned around and caught Cas staring at them. He wanted to tell Cas to quit it, thank _ god _ she hadn’t noticed, and he mouthed a quick _ ‘fuck off’_. Cas just squinted, confused, and then was jostled by a beefy biker-looking dude.

With that, she leaned over the table and took her first shot. She didn’t show any mercy so neither did Dean. Chicks like this didn’t like getting beat at their own game, but well, it wasn’t as though Dean was entirely confident that he could beat her anyhow.

But he could buy her a drink, and he did, and she bought the next round. And they stayed pretty well put together as one game turned into two, and she took his pieces of advice with a roll of her eyes. They both knew it was just an excuse for him to get a little closer, touch her a little longer, and when he leaned in she moved to meet him.

“I’m impressed,” she allowed, after Dean had sunk his final shot, tying. “This time of night, most guys can’t even hold their drink, much less their own.” She was a bit arrogant. He could dig that.

Dean could still feel Cas’s eyes on him again, wide, curious. Well, if the dude needed pointers, let him watch. “Well, I ain’t your average guy,” Dean said, taking advantage of the cramped space in the bar to lean in and murmur the words against the rim of her ear. He added, with his voice low in a way he knew was making her shiver, “Just figured I’d warn you.”

Her lips were pulled into a little smile. “That’s alright,” she said, hands tracing across his biceps, tilting her head to the side, her hair fanning across her shoulder. “I don’t like the average guy.” Dean smirked. That was fortunate, since there was just about nothing Dean that was average, for better or worse.

“Feel like dancing?” he asked her, idly pushing her hair behind her shoulder, letting the back of his knuckles graze the warm skin there. He didn’t dance, but he was probably tipsy enough to try.

She leaned up on her toes and against his ear. “I feel like getting some air,” she said, voice airy but deep in her throat, threading her fingers through his. Well, shit. Dean tossed Cas a wink, because of course Cas was still staring, and let Ann Marie take his hand and pull them out of the bar.

Outside, the summer night was kind. The breeze was warm though the night had cooled, and the moon was almost full above their heads. There was barely anyone in the parking lot and the music inside had muffled to a pounding thrum. He led her to the Impala and her eyes passed over it with an appreciative look.

“Nice car,” she told him, and before he could reply, she had him pressed up against it, kissing into his mouth with a sweet taste of cherry flavouring, the hint of some fruity drink beneath all the beer. He tangled a hand in her hair, pulling her closer with the other.

“Wanna take it for a drive?” he pulled away to ask, not knowing the destination but knowing no matter what she said about his Baby, she’d probably prefer a bed. She nodded eagerly, leaning up again to catch his mouth against hers.

It was a dick move, he knew, to leave Cas at the bar, but he was a big boy and could chew Dean out about it later if he had to. She was eager and warm in Dean’s arms and he really, _ really _ wanted to see this through.

“Wait, wait,” she said, suddenly breaking off and settling back down on her heels. “Back at the bar.” He backed off and let them find their breaths. “When you said, when you said you weren’t like the average guy. Did you mean like you’re—” she squinted, eyes almost black in the night. “A mass murderer, or serial killer or?” She trailed off.

“What?” Dean asked. He hadn’t realized she’d been paying that close attention. “God. No. I—” Which wasn’t entirely true. 

To be fair, it _ had _ been a weird thing to say, and he could see why it’d catch her attention. He laughed a little and idly scrubbed the back of his neck and admitted, “Actually, my junk’s just uh—on the smaller side.” Clumsy, but the truth, and enough for now. 

She stared at him for a moment. And then she laughed. Oh, that felt _ great_. Dean pinched his forehead. “What, _ really?” _ she asked, his line managing making her relax maybe too much. “I’m sorry,” came next, with a genuine apology in her voice. “I’m not, I swear I’m not—it’s fine, I don’t care. It’s just—”

“You know, laughing at me isn’t really helping the situation, Ann Marie,” he joked, gesturing a little crudely at his crotch, but he was grinning, feeling a little relieved at her relief. But steadily, with a sinking sort of sadness, he recognized their situation. How he was worried that she’d turn him down, maybe be an asshole about it, and how she was worried that he might kill her. It had been a long while since he’d been on the receiving end of that feeling, he’d almost forgotten it.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she apologized again, smiling ruefully. She shifted her purse on her shoulder, glancing down at the ground. “And sorry for asking. A girl can’t be too careful nowadays.”

“No, I don’t take issue with that,” Dean said, voice a little hoarse. “Believe me.” Her paranoia, if it could even be called that, would only serve her well in the days to come. She regarded him quietly, a strange look of consideration in her deep blue eyes.

“Did I ruin the mood?” she asked, leaning in, somehow deciding to trust him. She added, embarrassed but laughing at herself a bit, “I know most guys don’t like it when a girl laughs at their junk.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Nothin’ that can’t be fixed,” he promised her with a little smirk he knew got all manners of women hot, leaning back down and tugging her in close against him. And she went with him easily. That had been awkward as hell, but whatever got her to steer clear from his downstairs suited him and Dean knew, if she let him, she wouldn’t have anything to laugh about soon.

She took the initiative and pushed him into the backseat of the Impala, and he leaned back, grinning, as she took off her jacket and fitted herself against him. It was tight, but nothing Dean hadn’t done before and wouldn’t do again. She got on top of him, nipping his mouth, teasing and hot, and scrambling closer.

They stripped off his jacket, and she landed herself onto his lap, pressing near. Then she was on him, grinding herself down onto his packer, obviously having thought he was joking. “You don’t feel that small,” she told him, moaning a little, and if he wasn’t struck with such a strong wave of terror he could’ve laughed.

“It’s uh—” he said, but the pressure felt surprisingly good and he took in a quick breath as she kissed his neck.

Technically, he had the right tool for the job, in the trunk along with the rest of his life, but he hadn’t thought to put it within arm’s reach and that was clearly biting him in the ass now. Not that it would’ve helped the situation since it wasn’t like he could swap to something more functional without her noticing. Plus, he hadn’t used it for awhile and he was already feeling worse for wear.

“Ann Marie,” he tried again, moving her hair behind her shoulder, hand on her waist to slow her movements. “Hang on a sec?” She felt good but steadily, it wasn’t making a difference for him and she noticed.

“What is it?” she asked, breathing fast. “Are you, uh—” she said, her movements grated to a halt on him, confused. She gripped his biceps as she leaned back. “You’re not…gay, are you?”

“No, _ no,” _ he choked out. “Uh, definitely not, I’m uh—” He hated this part right here. Where he had to stop pretending he was cis, give someone the 101 and hope they could both just move past it without things going downhill. He’d been hoping to avoid it tonight; she didn’t have to know, except now she did. He licked his lips, settling back.

“I’m trans,” he said. She looked at him a little blankly. “Transgender.” He was glad in a sense that she hadn’t been able to guess but he still hated having to say it. He almost started to take it all back, regret started to creep in heavy, but she shifted and started to speak again.

“Alright…” she said carefully, trailing a finger across his collarbone as she looked at him, still not totally on the same page. “What does that mean?”

“What it says on the tin,” he said, feeling flushed and uncomfortable because this never got any easier, no matter how many times he pushed through it. Christ, he didn’t even know that he wanted it anymore, how grotesque the whole thing made him feel, especially on the bookend of something that was just supposed to be a little fun. “I’m not—Listen, you don’t have to—” he cut himself off, starting to pull away.

“No,” she said, gripping his thigh and running her hand across him. Christ. “I want to. I mean—” She ducked her head, hair spilling across her face. “I don’t normally, I don’t do this a lot.” Still protecting her virtue.

“Hey, none of my business if you did,” Dean said, putting up his hands in surrender. She smiled tentatively back at him, bewildered but he could see a glint of interest in the dark of her eyes.

“Guess you could say I’m new to this,” she admitted, leaving it kind of ambiguous as to what exactly she meant. She caught his eye and he could see she was still confused but so clearly in it, pretty and pale as glass in the white half-light of lamps lighting up the parking lot.

Most women would take Dean’s partial admissions at face value and wouldn’t push it. Sometimes things would work out where they’d be interested in reciprocating, and most women felt like they ought to, while Dean was more than content to rub one out himself during or after. It’s what Dean had been planning anyway when he’d been considering her considering him.

Dean shifted in spot, placing a careful hand on the smooth, warm skin of her thigh, and he could feel her shiver with the anticipation of it. “That’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured her, pulling her back in and keeping his voice low and smooth as butter. He caught her lips in a smile. “I’m one hell of a teacher.”

_ August 14, 2010 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota _

Next time Cas got in the Impala, he sat in the passenger’s side with an air of passive-aggression so strong Dean could’ve choked on it. He gave Dean a glare, a silent but pointed vow that he was never going to sit in the backseat ever again, and Dean almost told him what he and Anna had gotten up to back there years ago, just to spite him, but thought better of it.

Even Bobby could pick up on Cas’s disapproval over lunch next day, giving little glances at Dean with Cas’s clipped responses and dissatisfied sighs. Cas hadn’t really mastered subtlety and it was clear that Bobby wasn’t impressed with it, and blamed Dean, too. Which, fair enough.

“Listen, Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean said, scrubbing his forehead to get at the minor hangover that still lingered. “But you know, sometimes nature calls.”

“I didn’t think that saying applies here,” Cas grumbled, folding the newspaper in his grasp extra loudly somehow. “Or, I should hope not.” Turns out Dean couldn’t say any old shit and get away with it anymore.

“_Human _ nature,” he explained, dressing up like he was being serious. “You know, the four Fs: fighting, fleeing, feeding…mating.” If looks could kill. But still, in the middle of how offended Cas was, Dean felt like something else was going on, even though he didn’t know what. 

“Listen, you could’ve picked up a girl too, no one was stopping you. You’re—” Dean gave Cas a quick lookover, trying not to come off like he was checking him out. He cleared his throat. “You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure you could take your pick.”

“I’m an angel, Dean,” Cas said, scandalized, like that excuse could still hold.

“Not so much, anymore,” Dean pointed out. Cas looked at Dean like he’d just tricked him into biting into a lemon. He turned around and Dean couldn’t help but grin at how easy Cas could be. But he didn’t know if he should be encouraging him. If Zach was right, by the time 2014 rolled around Cas would have no problem with ladies, or drugs, or anything else.

“Could we please focus,” Bobby spoke up crankily, dumping a 5-pound book onto the table in front of Dean so suddenly Dean barely had the reflexes to get his fingers out of the way. “Got some more lore from across the pond.”

“I thought we’d burned that bridge,” Dean fretted. “What do they know that we don’t?”

“Oh, hell if I know,” Bobby grumbled back. “But at least they’re organized. Prissier, too.” Dean raised his eyebrows in faux admiration and started flipping through the pages. Cas pulled another book towards him, frowning in concentration.

Dean could admit he’d been a douchebag last night. And Cas wouldn’t get why, obviously. He _was_ an angel, which maybe wasn’t to say that sex was beyond him, given that Gabriel had been more horny devil than archangel. But then, maybe libido was an archangel thing. Anna, after she’d gotten juiced up again, had never so much as _looked_ at Dean the way she had when she’d been human. But it didn’t matter. That’d all change when Cas got more human, got his blood pumping. And he was a handsome fella so there’d be ladies to rise to the occasion. He’d learn to like it.

Or not. Dean hadn’t really liked the Cas Zach had showed him. Being human didn’t mean Cas had to have orgies. The weekend Dean’d spent with Lisa, sex and sleep punctuated by her wandering to the door dressed in little else but his shirt to grab delivery, figuring out all the ways two bodies could fit together, that’d been in some ways more important to Dean than the other women he’d hit and quit combined. And Cas, Dean’d thought, would be all about significance.

“Maybe you should, you know,” Dean spoke up, feeling uncomfortable. “See people, if you’re not an angel anymore.”

“I was under the impression we’d stop Lucifer before I fell completely,” Cas said. Bobby glanced up between them, chewing on something.

“And we will,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “But…we gotta think about what’ll happen in the meantime. You don’t have to just…do _ this _all the time,” he gestured around them. Bobby shot Dean a pissy look because he hadn’t been much for the dating scene as long as Dean’d known him, but Dean held fast. Maybe he’d blown his chance at a good life but that didn’t mean Cas had to go down the same road as him. He at least deserved an opportunity to experience something good in case shit hit the fan. “You could meet someone, settle down.”

“Like you,” Cas observed, flipping the page of his book casual as anything.

“No, what?” Dean sputtered. Bobby’s eyebrows were up beneath the brim of his hat now. “I meant some _ lady_, Cas!”

Cas actually rolled his eyes. _ “I _ meant settle down the way _ you _ have settled down,” he bit back. He looked kind of pissed off. “Or, _ haven’t_, for that matter.”

“Oh,” Dean said, feeling like an idiot. “Right.” Fortunately, Cas wasn’t interested in interpreting Dean’s misinterpretation. Bobby took his leave from the conversation all the same.

“Once you two _ flowers _ get done talkin’ about your _ feelings_, you let me know if you find anything,” he grouched. “I’m gonna sort out the rest of the books.” Dean nodded dimly. Cas’s jaw was clenched hard around something else he wanted to say. Dean sighed to himself.

“I just mean…” Dean said, because Cas took Dean’s curtain call the night before too personally. “There’s more to life than just…duty. And I know, I know I’m calling the kettle black, I just…there’s _ more, _ Cas. I want you to know that.”

Cas was a good guy. He didn’t have anything to do with this, he could still opt out, leave, do something else with his life now that he finally had one. He didn’t have to, and shouldn’t have to, follow Dean’s lead. Call it destiny or obligation, Cas didn’t need it. Cas didn’t seem to agree.

“Not having angelic abilities hasn’t stopped you from fighting for this world,” he said. Cas was holding himself to a standard Dean couldn’t argue with. “Besides,” Cas said, not meeting Dean’s eye. “I know there’s more.

“I’ve been witness to all humanity has to offer. As for…relationships, intimacy…until recently, I haven’t ever thought to want these things.” That was a roundabout saying that…now he kind of did.

Dude had been white as a sheet when Dean had last tried to set him up. How Cas had been around for so many years and _ still _ hadn’t lost his V card was beyond Dean. But, that wasn’t even what they were talking about. “So, do you want me to your wingman?” Dean asked, realizing that Cas was heading down that road.

Cas turned his gaze away from Dean, looking uncomfortable, embarrassed even. Dean didn’t know why he felt surprised, or if he had that right given how badly he wanted that life, that freedom, himself. Since Cas was falling, it made sense that he’d want it too but, on some level, Dean had thought he was doing Cas a courtesy by pointing out the option. He hadn’t expected Cas to _ actually _be considering it. He felt a guilty sort of anxiety in his gut for that, like if he’d not brought it up maybe Cas wouldn’t have thought about it.

“I want…more things now than ever before,” Cas spoke up. Dean didn’t look at him, but he felt the hairs on his arms prickle and raise with the tone, heavy and…desperate, somehow. “Already, I find myself wanting to eat, to sleep, to drink. Considering…physical intimacy.”

“Jesus,” Dean found himself laughing, though Cas’s voice was intense with something Dean was afraid to ask about. Cas really didn’t bury the lede. “TMI, man.”

“It’s a part of becoming mortal, I assume,” Cas went on quietly. “These wants…they’re becoming difficult to ignore, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to tell between desires and needs. It’s exhausting.” Dean frowned. It sounded confusing, like an eleventh hour puberty. Dean got it.

“But,” Cas went on, settling into something calmer, more satisfied. “I don’t require more than what I have.” Dean didn’t know if he could believe him, but he sounded genuine.

“You might change your mind on that,” Dean said, trying not to shiver at just how intense Cas could get. Cas talked like an action movie hero, heavy and dramatic, but he was so genuine and honest that Dean couldn’t laugh it off. Cas wasn’t like most people, wasn’t like Dean. When he said something, he really meant it.

“I might,” Cas allowed. He didn’t sound like he really cared either way. Dean didn’t know what to make of that. Cas meeting some nice girl, and leaving his and Dean’s little partnership, would serve him better than the drugs and orgies the future held for him. But Dean was selfish.

Dean wasn’t going to be enough, he’d seen it. And Dean knew who he was. He couldn’t give Cas all that he wanted, needed, and he…it wasn’t exactly fair to put it on him either. He didn’t feel like…like Cas was asking anything of him. But that was…

“I spent my whole life giving myself away,” Dean said. “Taking care of my family. I’m not…what my dad expected of me made me into the man I am today.” For better and worse.

“I don’t need your or anyone else’s supervision,” Cas spoke up, reading between the lines and sounding sulky. “I can be self-sufficient.” Dean did laugh out loud at that. Cas blinked, offended.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said. “But you’re kind of getting—” he cut himself off, deciding against pissing off the guy who could still probably do a fair amount of smiting. “Doesn’t matter.” He sighed.

“I screwed up, didn’t I?” Dean asked, a little laugh hanging in his throat. He’d lost his dad, Sam had turned his back on him, and he’d given his all for them. He’d given _ more_. He’d managed decades in Hell, for what? “You know what I did down there. And I came back, and Sam got a demon girlfriend, and he was drinking demon blood…”

“He was an abomination,” Castiel nodded in agreement. Dean choked out a laugh again. Cas was so fucking…Cas.

“And now…and now he’s Lucifer’s,” Dean said gruffly. “My own _ brother _ gave up on me, Cas, jumpstarted the apocalypse. How the hell am I s’posed to fix this when—when I couldn’t even stop that.” Fuck. “I really thought I could…I’m so damn stupid,” he said. Cas’s eyes were wide on Dean, dismayed.

He hadn’t thought he’d end up here, but then he was saying, “Cas, you should just fucking run. Get as far away from me as you can because I’m not…I’m not good news. I’m only going to drag you down.”

“You think only you have a responsibility to fix this?” Castiel asked, and there was this hint of anger in his voice that made Dean focus. “It’s _ Heaven’s _fault we’re in this situation. You didn’t ask for this, I sat idly by and let it happen.” Dean hung his head. “It isn’t your fault.” That was patently false, but it felt nice that Cas believed it.

Maybe Cas living the high-risk lifestyle wasn’t the worst possible thing. It’s not like Dean was going to have sex with him, and hell, if that was something Cas needed who was Dean to judge? Dean’s future counterpart also apparently had his thumb in enough pies for one of the pies to nearly take his head off. Maybe that was just how the apocalypse was like, if they got to that point. Just sex and violence, hopefully not at the same time.

“You weren’t a happy camper,” Dean confessed. “In the future.” He didn’t know if he’d made it clear to Cas…that if they followed down this road and screwed it up Cas was going to be miserable. Even if Dean could accept that Cas’s rockstar status in Camp Chitaqua was something inevitable, it was still obvious that Cas had been miserable.

“That future doesn’t have to come to pass,” Cas said, but those words were getting thinner the more they were said. “Besides…my happiness, it’s kind of secondary, isn’t it? To the fate of the world.” Dean nodded.

“Well, shit,” he said. “Makes us quite the pair doesn’t it? Two miserable bastards trying to save the world.” He laughed and the reality of it almost choked him. “The more things change…” Dean rubbed his thumb against the smooth wood of the table.

“You’re no bastard, Dean,” Cas disagreed. Dean raised an eyebrow. He liked the vote of confidence but he didn’t need Cas defending him against every little disparaging comment. “Your parenthood was overseen by Heaven so I can personally assure you that’s not the case.” The way he said it, with such confidence and self-satisfaction. Dean couldn’t help but laugh.

But he caught a look on Cas’s face, a little smirk. Fucker had actually made a joke. On purpose. That somehow made it even better. “Yeah, and you’re Little Orphan Annie,” Dean agreed, still laughing. “Single dad _ and _a deadbeat dad. A twofer.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Guess I can relate to that too.” He reached over and clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “C’mon, read up,” he said. Cas nodded, and they turned back to their books.

_ August 26, 2010 – Bristol, Rhode Island _

Unfortunately, Hell on Earth didn’t mean that your average ghost and ghoul had taken a vacation. There seemed to be less of them now, at least relative to the number of demons up and walking, to the point where the concept of supernatural disappearances seemed positively quaint. But that didn’t mean normal monsters, if you could call them that, couldn’t cause a good deal of damage if they put their mind to it, which was the case in a town on the East Coast.

Dean had been passing by when Cas had popped in, relaying the case details from Ellen. Dean had almost laughed him out of the car but Cas had been insistent on not returning with news that’d piss Ellen off so, Dean reclaimed his place as the family business’s sole proprietor.

Cas had stuck around to babysit and Dean had almost rented a single room with the intent of making Cas sleep standing up, but the receptionist looked between them so intently Dean had splurged for two. Castiel had insisted it wasn’t necessary but Dean, damn near blushing, hadn’t wanted to hear it.

Cas had been sleeping more often lately but always sleeping like shit. Most nights he spent laid up tossing and turning. Cas’d never been exactly laidback and, well, it was a different matter altogether when he was a living thing that needed to eat and sleep.

“I’m not hungry, Dean,” Cas said after Dean asked him what he wanted off the menu.

“An angel with depression,” Dean muttered, because Cas had to eat now and just didn’t feel like it. “Great.”

“I’m becoming less of an angel by the day,” Cas reminded him. Which was all the more reason that Cas should’ve been eating.

“I’m buying you a burger,” Dean said firmly. “And you’re gonna eat it. Okay? For me.” He wasn’t about to beg or let Cas hunt on an empty stomach. Luckily, Cas was too tired to argue.

They were sitting in a pirate-themed bar in Rhode Island, pouring over a missing persons case. Five guys had gone missing, all within a two-mile radius of each other, and so they were pouring over the research. Guys had vanished without a trace and this could be anything from vampires to skinwalkers.

“It sounds like an arachnid,” Cas said.

“A _ what?” _ Dean echoed.

“An ancient Grecian monster,” Cas said, totally confident. “They haven’t been seen outside of Crete for two thousand years.” That would explain all the spiderwebs Dean had seen around where people had gone missing.

_ “Spiders?” _ Dean asked, apprehensive. Cas nodded.

“Arachne are incredibly powerful and their bite can transform victims into arachne as well.” Gross.

“Is that what’s happening with these guys?” Dean asked, looking over the missing persons poster. “Or are these suckers just flies?”

“It’s possible the monster could be doing either,” Cas said. “Though, personally I hope for the former. I can help victims that are in the process of being turned; I can’t bring people back from the dead.”

“Anymore,” Dean agreed. Cas looked up at him, a bizarre little expression playing across his face. Dean cleared his throat, shoving the posters over to Cas’s side of the table.

“I fit the MO,” he said. “Maybe I’m cutting it a little close, but I think I can pass as a few years older.” He ran his hand across his jaw. Hadn’t shaved in a few days, and he was sure that could help.

“You’re proposing using yourself as bait,” Cas said. Dean shrugged. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“When I get nabbed I’ll send you a little angelic SOS,” Dean said, triumphant. Easier than tracking cellphones, especially for Cas who was smart but about as technologically inclined as a grandpa. Cas looked like he wanted to argue but gave in. Dean was the expert here after all. “So, how do we kill it? Jug of bugspray?” Cas looked annoyed.

“Decapitation,” he said. “They’re immune to most other things.”

“How about guns?” Dean asked. Cas hesitated for a moment. “I’m betting, two thousand years ago, no one was shooting these guys.” Dean put up his hands. “I know it sounds like overkill, but sometimes I gotta use the can in the middle of the night and I see a spider on the seat and that’s where _ my _head goes.”

“I don’t need a gun,” Cas grouched.

“Okay, humour me,” Dean said because Cas was fighting this too much. “Say your—smiting—abilities…cut out mid-fight. Sure would be nice to exercise your Second Amendment right, huh?” Cas gave Dean a hard look. “Alright, alright,” Dean grumbled. “It’s just _ my _head on the line. Or hers.” He snickered. Cas just looked annoyed again, but they made their plans.

_ August 27, 2010 – Bristol, Rhode Island _

Michael stood comfortably in the Winchesters’ kitchen, wearing Dean’s father and looking horrifyingly cold. Dean stood behind Anna, between Michael and Adam, and when Anna split Michael watched her go and smiled like he found her a little funny, endearing. And it didn’t matter what kind of shit Dean talked, Michael just kept smiling like an alien and told Dean to say yes.

And it was different from every other time someone had told Dean to get on his knees and spread them. Because Michael was calm as a king, saying, threatening, _ “When your brother falls because your brother _ will _ fall, as _ my _ brother fell, I may not come collect.” _ And Dean felt that spike of adrenaline, rebellion and pride, that said _ “Fuck no, no way.” _And that’s the way Dean always went. Swinging.

The next thing Dean knew, Cas was ripping apart the webs around him and pulling him awake. It was pitch black out. “Took your time,” Dean said numbly. Dean made himself some pretty bait out in the woods and it must’ve been the spider toxin that made him remember that day with Michael and Adam clear as crystal. Cas put a hand on either side of Dean’s face, flushing the poison. “What the hell happened?” Dean slurred.

“I killed the arachnid,” Cas replied quietly.

“Yeah, got that,” Dean said, as Cas reached out, pulling Dean from the webs. He was still a little shaky from the dream. He caught sight of a dismembered head on the ground. He raised an eyebrow. “I see you went straight for the decapitation.” Cas didn’t meet his eye. “Someone’s gonna have to teach you how to shoot.”

“I’ve been a warrior for millennia,” Cas said, voice low and rumbling, but obviously defensive, moving on to pull someone else from the webs, slicing them open with a bloody knife. “I’ve been fighting before your species first stood upright.” Okay, big guy.

“I meant you didn’t even _ try _ shooting her. Do you even know how?” Dean questioned pointedly, scooping webs off of himself. Cas scowled. Dean smirked. “That’s okay,” he said, his sarcasm betraying his innocent tone, “Even a kid could do it.” He could practically feel Cas’s glare burning up the back of his neck. Dean gave him a little wink and clapped his hands on his jeans to shake free the soil and grime and—gross—_webs_.

“Thank you!” one of the men Cas got free gasped. Cas nodded patiently and put his hands on the guy’s face to heal him. “You saved my life!”

“It’s nice that people can be appreciative,” Cas said, indicating his head towards the victim. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you did good, Cas,” Dean said. He’d done really good actually, all things considered.

“You’re welcome,” Cas said to both Dean and the guy he’d saved, satisfied. Dean looked around at the place. There looked to have been almost half a dozen guys that had stripped out of their—cocoons, yeesh. This arachni or whatever had been holed up here for awhile.

Dean told the other victims to head home, forget that this ever happened, and not go spreading around that they’d been kidnapped by Spiderwoman. He and Cas would spend the rest of their night burning the webs and getting rid of the body. Dean leaned down and picked up her head. He was gonna slot this night into the ‘Do Not Remember’ category. Including that dream. There was no point to thinking about all that now.

After he and Cas had finished burning up the scene and getting rid of the arachnid’s body Dean turned to Cas. “How’d you decapitate her anyhow?” he asked. Not like Cas carried a fucking machete.

“Angel blade,” Castiel replied. That would do it. It wasn’t like Grace would have been useful against a spider anyhow. Dean nodded.

“Awesome,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. I need a month-long shower. Can you zap us back?” Cas opened his mouth, then shut it.

“I…exhausted my Grace healing the victims,” he said, apologetic. Dean sighed and called them a cab.

It was different hunting with Cas than it was…hunting with anyone else. Different than hunting alone. And part of that was due to the fact that Cas wasn’t human, but a larger part of it was due to…Cas. Cas couldn’t…it was different, that was all. When Cas had brought up Sam it had kind of fucked Dean up a bit. And Cas must’ve known, because he didn’t bring him up again.

He and Dean were spending more time together and Cas had thankfully learned the art of not talking. It was great. Because Cas’s point-blank rejection and his callous topic choice smarted pretty hot for something he’d said so easily. Dean could see now that Cas had been doing Dean a real solid by not talking about Sam, because Dean…obviously couldn’t handle it. Thankfully, Cas had retreated. Dean was regrouping.

Sam. Sam would’ve talked about it. That ugly tension between Dean and Cas. Would’ve wheedled and whined about it. Maybe not the Sam that said ‘yes’ to the Lord of Darkness, or demon blood, or Ruby, but the old Sam. The Sam that’d come out of Stanford and the loss of Jess softer but with more conviction. Someone who’d push the need to talk about feelings, about mental health, even if it was just to deflect from his own issues. As though that shit was in the cards for either of them. Still, Dean missed it. Couldn’t afford to but, distantly, he did.

It was just embarrassing. Kind of a punch to the gut. Dean hadn’t thought he was trying to make Cas replace…anyone, but clearly he’d been needy. Humiliatingly lonely and Cas could sense that and hadn’t cared for it. Christ, Dean needed to get laid, to do something, anything. Overall, he was eager to forget all about it and Cas was content enough to let him.

So, he’d gotten a little clingy with Sam gone. As if that was something new. Dean had gotten by just fine for half a year without Sam and if Sam was…fuck, it _ was _ different now. Even when Sam and Dean hadn’t been talking Sam had still been…there. Through Bobby, through Ellen, hell, through Cas. Dean had been able to check up on him. And now there was…

Dean was straddling that line between denial and ignorance. Still couldn’t wrap his brain around Sam saying yes, and all the questions that were built into that statement like did Sam hate Dean that much? Did Dean driving him away, make him hate him _ so _ damn much that he’d rather toast the world than trust his brother to save it? Dean had a lot of time to think about shit like that, even when he didn’t want to. He’d spent enough time going it over in his head like a mantra when he’d been neck-deep in booze. He hadn’t figured out any answers, though.

Maybe it was that screwed up codependency…where Dean’d die for Sam and Sam’d die for Dean. And the moment Dean decided they should live for something else, well…everyone else had to pay for that. But no—Sam had done just fine in Stanford, thrived even, meeting his future wife, meeting his future while Dean had choked on loneliness.

It wasn’t that Sam had problems living without Dean. He’d been itching for it since he realized it was an option. Dean’d been that oppressive figure that stood in for John, a father, a mother, lecturing and cloying, pulling Sam back, holding him down. Sam had busted out and the only thing—the _ only _ thing that’d pulled him back in was fucking fate. Not Dean.

But still it seemed the moment Dean pumped the brakes, said the life they lived together wasn’t good for them wasn’t good for anyone, Sam jumped into bed with Lucifer. Dean couldn’t reconcile the parts of his brother he loved with the parts he hated. Couldn’t see how that smart, sweet kid who’d always been so nice and kind could end up as Satan’s chauffeur. Couldn’t connect those dots.

But, all things considered, it was a bit late for that anyway. So, Dean buried it in the yard and focused on things that he could work with.


	9. November 2010

_ November 5, 2010 – Norman, Oklahoma _

Cas and Dean had continued to hunt, sometimes together, usually apart, working on finding and eliminating the Croatoan virus wherever it propped up. Cas had put off Dean’s shooting lessons until summer had burnt out of the sky, but then suddenly it was November, one year closer till the expiration date, and Dean’d had enough. It was time to get on the same page.

They’d just wrapped up another hunt for a ghoul in someone’s basement and while Cas had been pretty handy, he was getting closer and closer to the point where he really couldn’t beat a gun. Outside the city a little ways, Dean set up empties from a 12-pack on a boulder about twenty paces away from the Impala. He headed back to the trunk and fished out his shotgun and a box of shells.

“It’s loud, and I don’t have earplugs,” Dean warned Cas, leaning against his car while examining the gun and loading it.

“My hearing should remain unaffected,” Cas said. He turned a concerned eye on Dean. “You should cover your ears.” Dean scoffed.

“I’ll deal,” he said. If they didn’t stop Lucifer Dean was going to end up a bloodstain in a hospital courtyard and did he have to _ hear _ Lucifer break his neck? Probably not.

“When I raised you, I fixed damage which would have eventually led to tinnitus,” Cas said, cocking his head to the side, eyes knowing. Sometimes it bothered Dean, the intimacy with which Cas knew his body. Cas probably knew that because he never talked about it much, except to lecture Dean of course.

“I would’ve gone to Hell, with or without my hearing,” Dean pointed out. Cas’s eye twitched. “Now, _ this _ is how you hold a gun,” Dean went on, pressing the butt against the meat where his shoulder met his chest. “So you can brace yourself for the kickback.” Dean was doing a pretty good job instructing Cas on the art of war, even while Cas was bristling in annoyance the entire time.

“Take the safety off,” Dean racked the gun, then brought it up to his eye. “Aim down the barrel. Then…” the word _ fire _ was eaten up by the explosion. Using a shotgun when adrenaline and blood wasn’t muffling your hearing wasn’t fun. Dean pumped the gun and shot again, knocking the second bottle off, leaving some for Cas.

He let the gun make its telltale click, then loaded the remaining shells. “Ready?” he asked Cas. Cas took the gun, carefully fitting it against his shoulder, hesitating. “Want me to walk you through it, Cas?” Dean asked, letting just enough condescension colour his voice to piss Cas off. Cas’s jaw clenched as he cocked the gun.

He knocked the bottles off cleanly, a shot per second, stopping just short of shooting empty. After he was done, he gave Dean another glare, and handed the emptied gun back to him, the air still ringing with the noise. Dean honoured Cas with a little impressed pout. “Not bad,” he admitted.

“My vision is vastly superior to any other creature’s on Earth,” Cas replied. “Save perhaps the mantis shrimp. But even then, my sense of perspective is—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Just take the compliment.”

Cas’s mouth twisted into a worried frown. “There is a chance my ‘talent’ won’t last,” he said. Okay, that was fair. Dean watched Cas thoughtfully. He looked extremely miserable at the concept. Now was probably the worst possible time for Cas to lose his abilities, but Dean didn’t have anything comforting to say about that.

“Well, practice makes perfect,” he replied. Cas nodded. He glanced back at the gun.

“May I?” he asked. Dean handed it back to Cas, along with the box of shotgun shells. He let Cas fiddle around with the gun, figuring out how to load it, and he leaned back against the Impala.

Dean had been six years old when his dad had first taught him to shoot. He’d set up a pair of industrial grade earmuffs that barely fit on Dean’s head, stacked up a line of bottles, and the rest was history. While Dean had been too young to remember, John’d regaled the story many times years later that Dean had knocked each one off, first try. It still stood as one of the few instances John had ever actually seemed proud of Dean.

Dean had taken to this, Sam hadn’t. Once Sam reached a certain age, old enough to play with the big boys, he easily became on par with Dean, then better with puberty, until Dean eventually caught up, mostly. But initially, when Sam was young, he’d occupied this strange role where John, John wanted to keep him innocent. So, everything else, it all fell back on Dean. To keep Sammy safe, and to keep Sammy a kid, just a little bit longer.

Dean had to cook dinner and shoot a gun and drive the car. He’d been proud of it too, not realizing until later that he was playing the part of a mother in Mary’s absence, being a father when Dad, as was usually the case, couldn’t be. And sure, he’d been a brother, a son—maybe not as Dad would’ve had it—but he’d never been a kid. What little scraps of childhood Sam had gotten were victories Dean had sweated over and bled for.

But, it turned out John Winchester had been right. He’d done Dean a favour. Now, he couldn’t have known that the world was going to turn to apocalypse levels of shit, that his kids were gonna be instrumental pieces in a holy war, but it had worked out. If he hadn’t raised Dean the way he had, Dean would be long dead by this point. Still, any attempt on Dean’s part for gratitude tasted like dust. And then, in the middle of him feeling sorry for himself, Dean was pulled off the Impala and onto the ground.

_ “Shit!” _ he yelped, hands automatically going up to bar his attacker from getting too close. Teeth, snapping. Dean's new friend didn’t budge, didn’t flinch, had a desperate kind of fury about him, but Dean managed to flip him on his back, and then another shot rang through the air, and the guy was just blood beneath Dean. Dean looked up to see Cas, aim steady on the attacker, though he was obviously disturbed. Dean glanced back at the body, dead.

“They were infected,” Cas explained. Dean nodded slowly, adrenaline still humming through him, still getting used to the idea that he wasn’t in danger anymore.

“Look at that,” Dean chuckled nervously, shoving the body off him and getting to his feet. “You’re a natural.” Cas didn’t look anywhere near reassured.

“There’s blood on you,” he said, eyes wide with concern. He started to stride over to Dean.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, reaching out to turn Cas’s gun away from him. “Watch where you point that thing.”

“My apologies,” Cas said, unloading the weapon swiftly and placing it on the hood of the Impala. He reached out and touched Dean’s arm through the material of his jacket, and Dean was taken aback by the movement until he felt a familiar buzz thrum through his body. Cas was healing him.

Cas’s face was screwed up in thoughtful concentration as he fixed up whatever little bumps and scrapes and tears Dean had suffered by living. The virus spread based on blood to blood contact, and while Dean was skeptical that he’d caught it, it was worth the precaution. 

“Don’t forget to fix my hearing while you’re at it,” he teased. Cas, still focusing, gave Dean a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“I haven’t,” he said, voice low and rich. Well, at least it was clear that he wasn’t pissed about Dean’s breakdown anymore. Dean settled into the touch.

Mostly, Cas healing Dean felt strange, like Cas had Dean’s body speeding through the hot flush of swelling and bruising in a matter of seconds. But, there was also a part of being healed that always felt nice too, relieving. It was hard to say if it was the absence of pain, or the presence of Cas’s hand, careful and caring. He was an angel, after all, and getting a little taste of Heaven and Grace was sweet enough at times to be dangerous to folks like Dean.

Cas took back his hand a few seconds later, awkwardly holding it at his side. He leaned against the Impala next to Dean, still hanging in his space. Dean came back down to Earth and frowned at the infected person in front of them, dead and bloody. He nudged the body with his foot. 

They’d have to burn him, but that wasn’t Dean’s problem. “Must’ve heard the gunshots,” he murmured. They were out of city limits, and this guy was wearing a suit. “How the hell did it get out here?” Cas looked just as perplexed and apprehensive.

“We should be careful driving back to town,” he said, waking a feeling of dread in Dean. He nodded. Either the virus was getting closer to the city centre, or it was coming from it. No matter which way you sliced it, it didn’t bode well. The hope that they’d be able to keep the virus at bay if they just informed enough hunters was getting slimmer by the day. Still, there was nothing else that could be done.

“Well, Cas,” Dean said. “You ever dispose of a dead body?” Cas’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Today was a day of learning.

_November 12, 2010 – Flagstaff, Arizona_

Fortunately, that guy who’d been infected by the Croatoan virus had just been a fluke, not part of some larger pattern. At least, not yet. Dean spent his time basically stockpiling hormones, freeing up space in Bobby’s fridge by drinking (within reason). He was getting his hands on a suspicious number of needles, and he may have been heeding Chuck’s advice and hoarding toilet paper too, who could say. At any rate, Dean was about as ready for the end of the world as he was ever going to get. Which wasn’t saying much.

Days were spent on the outlook for more cases of the virus, and he and Team Free Will had been in communication with most of the hunters. Ellen and Jo had really helped spread the word through their contacts, and Bobby through his, and the idea was essentially—kill the virus before it spread to big cities. But this was riskier business than it seemed.

The Croatoan virus didn’t present the way normal viruses did. Victims just looked like normal folks who hadn’t had their cup of morning joe, so putting them down wound up looking way more like murder than community service. It would only be a matter of time before some doctor or scientist put together the link between these deaths and their consequent sulfurous autopsies, unleashing panic and paranoia onto the world. So, Dean tried to keep things as quiet as he could.

There was nothing that could be done to help these people, either. Going to the future, Dean knew that. It was a demonic virus, but it wasn’t something holy water could cure, and also, just for irony, demons were immune. Of course, that meant that Cas was some sort of immune as well but the angels leaving and Cas’s powers fading left that all a little uncertain.

Cas took to reading. Initially it didn’t seem to Dean like there was any rhyme or reason to it, just stacks and stacks of books. He could read fast, Sam had been able to speed-read but he didn’t have anything on Cas who just swallowed books whole. Actual encyclopedias, books on religion, on—on fucking Civil Rights and the history of revolutions, as though he hadn’t probably been there himself. Dean even saw Cas making his way through a dictionary. If Dean had to take a guess, it was because Cas was already well acquainted with the sciences, and now he was playing catch up with the humanities.

One regret Dean had was that he’d never been the most encouraging for Sam and school. Because he, rightly, saw school as nothing but an escape for Sam, an escape from hunting, their father, the life. And every accolade and A that Sam got was just another nail in Dean’s coffin, Dean who’d never get out. And Dean had been secretly proud, of course, _ unbelievably, _ who wouldn’t be if their brother got into Stanford? But Dean had also been unfairly jealous.

“What you reading?” Dean asked idly.

“I picked up a book on Scientology from the thrift store,” Cas said. Dean frowned.

“What, you gonna join a cult, Cas?” he asked. “Plus, you _ know _ they’re wrong. You know _ why _they’re wrong.” Dean felt weirdly offended by the whole concept. He’d been a confident atheist for nearly his entire life…his mom had believed in God and angels and her death, Mary Winchester’s death, to Dean and his dad alike, had just been proof that there was no way. No fucking way a God, at least a God worth believing in, existed.

And it turned out that she’d been right about one thing, angels had been watching over him, just not in the way she’d hoped. And even that had done nothing to make Dean more of a believer. Hell, even most angels didn’t know if God existed or not. Cas had _ looked _. Dean had thrown out the Christian god as something worth believing in a long time ago, and he thought Cas had too, but he hadn’t figured Cas would try to replace him with something even weirder.

“You know, Jesus Christ was just below an Operating Thetan, and just a shade above Clear,” Cas replied, patting the book with one hand. “There’s quite a bit of overlap.” Dean pouted.

“Yeah, but,” he said. “Isn’t their leader like—Lovecraft?” Dean had had a habit of listening to ranting audiobooks a few years back to kill time and had a passing understanding of why scientology was screwy.

“L. Ron Hubbard? Yes, he was a science-fiction writer, but the conception of Scientology was hardly different from the conception of modern Christianity, you know,” Cas said. “A man with an idea and the will or charisma to enforce it on others—you could call it the American dream.” Dean could get that. Probably the first dude that came off the mountain babbling about a burning bush was laughed right out of the village, even though, given Dean’s luck, it probably _ had _happened. You had to be a little bit nuts to believe, and Dean meant that in the nicest sense.

He whistled, squinting at the street ahead. “Bein’ controversial today, Cas.” And, because Cas wasn’t about to quit, he asked, “Any reason you’re out here bible-thumping?”

“I’m trying to find purpose, I suppose,” Castiel replied, turning the paperback over in his hands. “Living without faith. You, humans, have always struggled for purpose, for meaning. As angels, we thought we were closer to that purpose than anyone else…that that was our reward. But we were wrong. _ I _was wrong.”

“So, now you’re a Scientologist?” Dean pressed.

“I’m trying to understand how people have done it,” Cas replied. “What they have done.”

“You know, you don’t _ need _ God, right?” Dean asked. “Or anything. I mean, why the hell _ would _ you have faith? You _ know _ miracles can happen, you _ know _ angels are real.” He squinted at the road. “Faith and evidence are kind of diametrically opposed, Cas.”

“I was built to believe, Dean,” Cas said quietly. “In God, in Heaven’s mission.”

“If you don’t know that there’s a God, how could you say that you were built for anything?” Dean asked. Cas squinted ahead.

“Touché,” he murmured. He set down the book. “Dean, how have you managed? How have you—lived without faith.” Dean felt flustered. He could feel Cas’s eyes on him, same x-ray stare he’d fixed Dean under the night they’d met. Dean had mostly just wanted to be a smartass to keep Cas from drinking the Kool-Aid; he hadn’t planned on getting this far.

“Christ, Cas, don’t look at me,” Dean said. “I’m no role model.”

“Aren’t you?” Cas replied, raising an eyebrow. Dean shifted in his seat. He didn’t like the thought that everything Cas became in 2014—drugs and women and depression was because of Dean’s influence, but he was scared it would be.

Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Why do you think you need something to believe in?” he asked. “Ain’t the mission enough? Helping people? You don’t need a higher power to know what’s right.”

“I think I do,” Cas said. “Or I did. I don’t have a soul Dean. A human without a soul lacks a conscience, empathy. And I’ve seen my brothers and sisters, righteous as they were, commit heinous actions. I fear angels are, _ were—_in similar straits. I…I don’t see a lot of evidence to the contrary.” Cas glanced down.

“Plenty of humans do horrible shit and I don’t know the logistics here Cas, but I figure they probably still had their souls,” Dean replied. “So, I figure souls aren’t worth all that much.” As far as Dean was concerned, souls were only good for selling off. “And you _ know _ what’s right, Cas. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Because I trust you,” Cas argued, because reading made him argumentative. “Because I have faith in you to do the right thing.” That made sense but…

“You threw away a hell of a lot over one guy,” Dean muttered. “Sounds like you’ve got an inkling of what the right thing to do is.” Cas was silent for a moment.

“You’re inspiring,” he spoke up after awhile. That rang like agreement, but Cas still wasn’t exactly crediting himself.

“Don’t put your faith in me, Cas,” Dean spoke up then, and it sounded like a plea. He couldn’t carry Cas on top of everything else. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time; I’m just trying to make the best out of a shitty situation.”

“Why bother?” Cas asked. Dean blinked. He laughed.

“Getting all philosophical on me,” he said, feeling fond, but Cas wasn’t subdued by it.

“If you’re bucking destiny, why bother trying to save this world?” Cas asked, leaning in, close enough to kiss. Sometimes Dean got the sense that Cas was kind of into him, or at least as into a human as angels could get. It was a little uncharitable maybe, and it wasn’t Cas’s fault he’d wound up in a man-shaped meatsuit so that by default all his weird mannerisms came off looking kind of gay, but they really did. Dean dragged his eyes from Cas’s mouth and back to the road, resisting the urge to tell Cas off only because he got caught on the words.

“And what?” Dean asked at last. “Go fishing?”

“Why not?” Cas went on. “You were never part of this world. You were raised in pain, suffered for loving, and I pulled you from Hell to complete a destiny of further torment. You owe this Earth nothing. You owe—no one—anything.”

Dean chewed on his lip. Leave it to Cas to smack him with Intro to Ethics. Dean’s entire life had been a series of obligations. Cas had once said Dean’d been born when his mother had died, and it held. Obligations to his dad, obligations to Sam. And the people he cared about kept dropping off, and with them their obligations, and Dean was left here with…what. With his guilt? With Cas?

“Maybe I don’t owe anyone,” Dean said. “But I wanna _ believe _ in a better world. I want to make it better. Maybe I don’t have shit all anymore. But I have that. That choice. And that ain’t something destiny came up with, or God, or whoever. I like this world, I like the people in it, and they deserve better than being Stepford fucks for whatever Michael’s got planned.”

“So,” Cas said. “You live in a valueless world by…choosing your own values.” It wasn’t anything special.

“Ditch the book, Cas, you don’t need it,” Dean said in response. And Cas nodded slow, then smiled with a little shy look to Dean, and stowed his book somewhere in the glove compartment.

_ November 23, 2010 – Los Angeles, California _

“Vast swarms of locusts in China,” Cas read off the headline. He flipped to the next page. “Galveston, Texas being overrun by ten-foot swells and winds up to 150 miles per hour.” He sounded almost casual. “Hurricane Tiffany, over the Gulf of Mexico, sweeping northwards.” Dean pulled a face.

“That climate change, huh?” he asked sarcastically.

“Given time, anthropogenic emissions would have wreaked equivalent levels of destruction,” Cas assured him.

“Heh, _ emissions,” _ Dean snickered.

“Excuse me,” the waitress said, setting down Dean’s burger by him. “And one Sunrise Special,” the waitress smiled dazzling at Cas.

“Thank you,” Cas said, shutting his newspaper and reaching for the plate politely. And she carried on smiling. But Cas let the moment slip, and the waitress smoothed her hands across her apron and moved on.

“C’mon, man,” Dean said once she was out of earshot, swinging his head to watch her exit, the bounce in her step obviously meant for Cas. She’d been flirting with, or really _ at _, Cas to the point where not even the freshly minted fallen angel could claim ignorance.“Say something. Shoot that barrel of fish.”

Still, Cas gave Dean a skeptical glance, pulled his plate closer to his side of the table, and grumbled, “What are you talking about.”

“She’s _ into you, _ dude,” Dean grinned. He scooted a little closer, fixing Cas with a serious look that Cas reluctantly met. “Now, listen. Next time she comes around, ask her when she’s gettin’ off, alright?” Cas gave him a dirty look. “That’s _ all _you gotta say.”

“I’m not going to say that,” Cas said, glaring at Dean like it was some kind of trick and Dean bit down a laugh.

“I’ll do it for you,” he offered. “I swear, it’s easier than you’d think, and even if she’s not down—which she _ is—_practice makes perfect.” Cas just grouchily dug into his lunch.

Dean didn’t know why he was encouraging Cas. The guy he’d seen in 2014 had been…disconcerting to say the least, but it was too funny not to rib Cas a little. Especially given how totally uninterested Cas seemed to be in anything but food.

But maybe angels were just like this…sexually repressed, or asexual. Maybe both. But Cas was getting to be more human now and well, just because _ Cas _ wasn’t interested didn’t mean his body wasn’t. Best get Cas at least warmed up to the idea.

“Do you need ‘the Talk’?” Dean realized, wincing. He’d do it for Cas if he had to.

“Dean, I don’t _ want _to talk about this at all,” Cas said, glaring like Dean was an annoying insect Cas was two seconds from swatting. Dean sat back in his chair, feeling appropriately shamed. Cas clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

Cas was quiet for a moment, then he turned to Dean again, “What do you remember from that night with Famine?” Changing the topic, then. Dean could roll with it.

He didn’t remember much beyond the fact that Sam had relapsed, which should’ve been the first sign, and that whatever Famine offered, Dean by default apparently wasn’t buying. It had been Valentine’s Day. “You dug burgers,” Dean offered.

“Yes,” Cas said. “My vessel craved red meat.” Ah.

“You tellin’ me your vessel is cravin’ meat, now?” Dean asked, grinning. Cas looked away. “Totally natural.”

“No, it isn’t,” Cas said.

Dean laughed. “C’mon Cas—”

“Dean, I said _ no,” _ Cas growled. Jesus, _ Jesus _.

“Okay,” Dean said, putting up his hands. “You know Cas, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Even if…even if your body wants it, alright? You know, mind over matter.” He didn’t get it, but Cas had been an angel all his life so he was bound to have some kind of sexual dysfunction.

Cas looked down at the table between them. “It’s steadily getting worse,” he admitted. “Not just…desire. Hunger. My need to sleep.” Dean felt a pang of pity.

“Listen, Cas, all this doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he said. “Sex is…” Dean cleared his throat. Sex was hard to talk about to someone staring at you like you were going to tell them where the Holy Grail was buried. “Sex is a mixed bag. _ Life’s _ a mixed bag. You can either have a good time or you can fold your arms and resent everything.” Cas let out a stressed sigh.

Most women would skip over Cas for Dean. Even when it had been Dean and Sam, unless the girl really dug tall guys, Dean was more popular. But that was just Dean, putting himself out there over and over, grinning and flirting, winking like a star in winter. Cas was a good-looking guy, or Jimmy had been, as stressed out as he looked now. A roll in the hay would probably do him even better.

“You know, you—” Dean started, throat dry. “You really should give her a shot.” Cas looked up at Dean, lips parted just a touch. He looked tired, confused, kind of lost. Like he needed a little guidance, like a virgin in any porno ever. With that weird thought, Dean took a drink of water and wished for something stronger.

“Hey, what happened to that chick back in Carthage?” he spoke up, leaning back. “Back when we had the Colt.” Meg. Dean had never been the biggest fan but hey. “Thought she was checking you out.” Cas frowned.

“The demon?” he grumbled. “She nearly killed Jo and Ellen. I didn’t think to keep in touch.” Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Unlike his brother, Dean had never messed around with demons—other than that one time playing tonsil hockey for a year and you could say the taste of sulfur was a turnoff. Not that Dean couldn’t enjoy a sexy demon, but his style was more sorority sisters with devil horns than the babbling, black-eyed psychos that were actual demons. But Cas was, or had been, an angel. Aside of the whole battle between Good and Evil, Dean couldn’t see why Cas should have hang-ups it, a little sulfur could be kinky, even.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” the waitress spoke up, coming back to their table with a smile.

_ “Yeah, _ Mandy,” Dean said, holding up his hand and reading off her nametag. “Actually, my shy but devastatingly handsome friend here was, uh, just wondering, when do you get off?” The waitress smirked to herself and inclined her body towards Cas to answer.

Just then a man stepped up next to her. “You know, it’s rude to hit on someone when they’re working,” he said. Then his eyes flashed black and the waitress jumped, stepping away from the table. “Hello Dean.” Speak of devils and so they appeared.

“I was wondering when you guys were gonna show up,” Dean said, getting to his feet along with Cas. There’d been an uptick in demons worldwide but they hadn’t come across any these past few months.

“Dean Winchester,” the demon grinned. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Christo,” Dean said, and saw several pairs of eyes at the restaurant flash black. Well…fuck.

“Shut your eyes!” Cas ordered in a growl, holding out his arm, clearly intending on smiting all the demons at once. Dean complied, squeezing his eyes shut, but a few seconds passed and nothing happened. Cas’s juice evidently had stuttered out right at just the wrong moment and Cas went white, and the demons advanced.

“Plan B,” Dean said. “Your knife, Cas.” That was something Cas still had and Cas got it out as Dean tried an impromptu exorcism.

_ “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—” _ he started as Cas successfully killed one of the demons. _ “—omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii—” _ As a demon knocked the blade out of his hand, Cas held out his hands to grab one of them by the face, successfully smiting them. Dean squinted against the light.

_ “Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica,” _ he said to the demon who he’d been successfully exorcising, quaking in their boots. Then he was tackled to the floor by another demon. Christ. _ “Ergo,” _ he grunted against the floor, irritated, but it didn’t help much.

Just then, the demon holding him down was stabbed by the angel blade, dying on top of him. He shoved them off, sitting up and calling out, _ “Omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te!” _to whoever else was still around to hear. Between Dean, Cas, and the random person that had intervened, all the demons were now dead or exorcised. And all Dean had wanted was some friggin’ breakfast.

“How the hell did they _ find _ us, we’ve been lying low,” he raged.

“Have we?” Cas muttered combatively. “Or did you not just recently announce your identity in a bar?”

“Wait, you think that woman back in North Dakota—” he started.

“Demons have ears, Dean,” Cas replied, annoyed. “And I’m sure Lucifer has put a bounty on your head.” Dean let out a sigh. Anna Marie hadn’t seemed like a demon informant, even though he probably had some bias. He grinned to himself. Hell of a bias. Cas seemed to catch Dean’s expression and immediately sense what he was thinking because he looked positively mutinous.

“Hey!” a woman’s voice barked from behind them. The one who had saved their asses. Cas and Dean turned and there stood Risa. Holy shit.

Her hair was different now—it was curly and looked like it had been dyed with a lighter brown at the roots, but it was undeniable. It was the woman Dean had met in the future. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked, looking at Dean like he was an alien. Dean frowned. He got the sense she wasn’t exactly asking for an introduction.

“Hey, watch it,” Dean said, startling back into the present, holding up an arm because she was still waving Cas’s angel blade around. It was weird to see her—to see that she was a real person, but the fact that she had Cas’s knife kind of cut through Dean’s existential crisis. “I don’t know how to answer that in a way that won’t make you think I’m nuts,” he told her honestly.

“Those people had black eyes,” Risa said, stilted, her hands still shaking around the knife in her grip. “And I killed them. So, I’m probably not one to judge.”

“They were demons,” Dean explained slowly.

“Demons,” she repeated, eyes widening. “You’re right,” she said, nodding her head slowly. “You _ are _ nuts.” But she slowly put her weapon down at her side, relaxing that the danger was over. Dean shrugged modestly. “But, things _ are _happening, aren’t they? Weird things.” Dean nodded. Castiel also gave her an affirmative glance.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself. She turned her face back to Dean. “People have been getting sick, is that—” she cut herself off when she saw Dean nodding. _ “Shit.” _She frowned. “I’m not…saying that I believe you. But…you clearly know more than me.” She was looking at him for answers.

“I don’t have answers,” he said. “I can give you some advice.” She nodded and Dean was hit with the fact that she, Risa, was _ real _, not just a character Zachariah had made up to make Dean feel bad.

Even the way she was acting, stressed out but secure in her ability to kick some ass, tracked with the woman Dean had met. Dean didn’t know whether or not to believe what Zachariah had shown him was real, the genuine future, _ Dean’s _ genuine future, but _ Risa _was real. She was real, and she wanted advice. He cleared his throat.

“First off, you’re gonna wanna get out of here before Mandy calls the police,” Dean said, glancing at the waitress, huddled in the corner. “But generally? Watch out for your family,” he said. “Try to get out of the big cities…” He thought for a moment, and made the decision on impulse.

“Get to Missouri. There’s a camp there—Chitaqua. It’ll be safe there, when things get bad…which should start happening in about two-odd years.” Cas looked over at him, obviously curious. Dean clenched his teeth around the doubts that brought.

He didn’t want to lock himself into that future, but he knew Chitaqua was going to be safe, defensible, that it’d lasted to the end. Didn’t mean he and Cas had to go there, but it was kind of inevitable that Risa would. Might as well get introduced her to the idea. She nodded, glancing around the diner, before heading out.

“Wait, what’s your name?” Risa asked as they stepped out into the parking lot.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. He glanced over at Cas. “Don’t wear it out.” She nodded, understanding.

“Risa Doig,” she said. He nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Risa,” he lied. “This is my friend, Cas. Mind giving him his knife back? It’s a—uh—family heirloom.” Risa looked down at the bloody blade in her hand and balked at it. She handed it back to Cas reluctantly.

“So, if demons exist…does that mean?” she asked. “Angels?” Dean glanced over at Cas, not sure how to tackle that one.

“Not anymore,” was all Cas said, moving back to the car, apparently done with the conversation. Dean gave Risa a shrug and left her at the restaurant, blood-splattered and no more enlightened. It was a dick move to get out of dodge and leaving her with the mess, but plenty of witnesses could testify that she’d saved their asses.

Dean didn’t know if things had worked out so that Dean would come to this specific restaurant this specific day and meet her. Even so, this was kind of a change anyway, since even if they had met each other like this in that future he’d seen, he wouldn’t have been able to tell her about Chitaqua. This was disobedience, in its own way. Him and Cas wouldn’t have to even touch Chitaqua, and Risa would be able to handle herself.

“So, demons are carrying out Satan’s dirty work while he’s leading the charge in Heaven,” Dean said, opening the door of the Impala.

“Well, angels are terrific at delegating,” Cas muttered, sounding depressed. He frowned. “I’m sorry I can’t more helpful.”

“Cas, it’s no biggie,” Dean said easily. “We had it handled.” Cas didn’t know that Risa was someone Dean had met in the future. Or else maybe he’d be more spooked. “Hell,” Dean offered, _ “Risa _ had it handled.”

“Exactly,” Cas muttered. “What use am I?” Dean couldn’t say anything to that. Cas slammed the door shut behind him.

_November 29, 2010 – Twin Falls, Idaho_

There was a case in Wisconsin Dean and Cas were working their way towards—reports of a strange new epidemic that had people freaking out. Cas had popped over and confirmed it was worth investigating and had been too wiped to pop back so they were travelling together. Things were getting harder and harder on Cas and Cas wasn’t taking it easier either.

Dean woke up bright and early for a change, stretching and yawning. He took his time showering, scrubbing behind his ears and all that jazz, dressed quick and headed out, still rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Cas was still on the bed, unmoving, and Dean noticed he looked pale.

“You alright, Cas?” Dean asked.

“I’m fine,” Cas said, which meant things were worse than Dean thought. Dean rolled his eyes and walked over to him, still drying his hair.

“Yeah, you look real good, Cas,” Dean said. Cas was kind of green, bigger bags under his eyes than usual. He was sick. “If you’re planning on throwing up in my car, let me know now.” Cas glanced up at Dean, guilty.

“I’m sweating, I’m thirsty, my head—is _ pounding—_I don’t even know what’s happening in my throat,” he confessed moodily, pulling at his necktie. “So many human lives have been lost to disease. Dean I—I think I’m dying.”

“I thought you were a warrior of God,” Dean shot back, unimpressed. “Little head cold gonna take you out?” Castiel glared fitfully at Dean beneath the sheets, flipping over onto his side. Dean reached over, willing to baby the baby, pressing his fingers to Cas’s forehead. The skin burned to the touch. Dean must’ve pulled a face because Cas noticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a little desperately.

“Nothing, man,” Dean said, keeping his tone even, like he was talking to a kid. “You’re just running a little hot.” That did squat to get Cas to relax.

“Do you know how many souls have died from fever, how many hominids alone_ ?” _ he muttered, miserable and grouchy for having to confront his own brand-new mortality.

“How many_ what?” _ Dean asked, words coming out clunky in his mouth. Cas didn’t have the patience for it.

“Hominids,” he snapped. “Members of the family Hominidae, subfamily Homininae, genus Homo, species sapiens—for how little it matters.”

“Say homo again,” Dean suggested. Cas glared, able to tell he was being made fun of. “You know, you’re pretty chatty for a guy with a sore throat.” If he was going to walk Cas through this trying time, he sure as hell was going to have some fun with it. But Cas was not having a good time; he looked like was going to pitch over.

“Relax man,” Dean said, taking some pity. He pushed Cas back down; it wasn’t hard to do. “I’ll go to the pharmacy. Get you some antibiotics.”

_ “Don’t,” _ Cas grated out dramatically. He explained, quieter, but still positively miserable, “It’s probably a viral infection.”

“Well, shucks,” Dean said. “Guess I’ll just sit on my thumb, then.”

“It’s _ fine, _ Dean,” Castiel insisted, trying to get to his feet again, to do _ what _exactly Dean had no clue. “I’ll be fine.” He inevitably stumbled and Dean caught him beneath the arm, sweaty and a little shaky.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean said. “But you don’t look like you’ll be on the cover of Men’s Health any time soon.” He felt bad now, pushing Cas like this. “How’s this—we’ll take a day off. I’ll make you some soup. Ancient homo tradition.” He could hear Cas laugh, a little puff of air. That was a good sign. Dean could remember his mom making tomato rice soup whenever he’d gotten sick, and that had always pepped him right up.

“That’s not necessary,” Castiel said, before adding hopefully, “Maybe tea?” Tea Dean could do. Soup was mostly a bluff anyhow, as he’d need to shop around for it and he had no idea how well-equipped the kitchenette was, but he was pretty sure he’d seen some Celestial Seasonings kicking around in one of the cupboards. He left Cas on the bed and went hunting.

He set up the water, found a box of some herbal crap, and set it down next to the kettle. He headed back to Cas, mind turning over various ways he could take the piss out of him in his weakened state. “Cas,” Dean spoke up, casual as anything. “I gotta say. You knew my ancestors, right?”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “I even met your so-called last universal common ancestor once. It was interesting to see which one won out; we were placing bets.” So, Cas was clearly delirious from fever, but that wasn’t going to stop Dean from taking advantage of his angelic knowledge.

“So,” Dean said, grinning a little goofy. “You gotta tell me, man…_Homo erectus.” _He held out his hands in expectation. Cas let out a tense sigh.

“Tea?” he requested again. Dean grin broadened. That reaction in itself was a victory.

“Cool your jets,” he said. “Water’s boiling. Tell you what, just shut your eyes and kick back. You’re gettin’ five-star treatment today, buddy.” He sat down on the single adjacent to Cas. Cas sighed and closed his eyes, hands reaching up to lose his tie.

They both got comfortable, Dean kicking up his legs onto the mattress and Cas slowly shrugging out of his coat, like it hurt to move. He’d still been avoiding sleep, despite Dean getting them a twin room, so it was no wonder he’d gotten sick. Dean could see Cas had a sheen of sweat, and his movements were stilted as he buried himself beneath the blankets on the bed, sighing miserably to himself. Cas’d probably never felt like this before. But it was okay. He had a coach in his corner.

Dean had taken care of Sam like this when they were young. They’d never really been in a position to go to hospitals if one of them had gotten sick and…whenever Sam had gotten sick it had always been Dean’s fault. For watching TV when Sam should’ve been sleeping, keeping Sam awake. For not closing the window, even when Sam’d been the one to open it. But Sam had been a kid then. It was different now, and Dean had no right feeling anything like guilt.

Besides, even back then, when Dean got sick? Well. That was something to just buckle through, wasn’t it? Gargle some salt water, drink some cough syrup, and don’t whine about it. Symptoms would pass in a week. Fever had gotten Dean once or twice, mostly because Dean hadn’t gotten enough sleep while trucking on.

Usually Dean had a godlike immune system so when he got sick he was usually really fucking something up. At one point, Dad had tried blaming Dean’s common cold on binding so Dean had learned to keep this type of thing to himself. Cas was different. Downright bitchy. He’d just gotten unlucky and he was taking it pretty hard so Dean couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy even when it wasn’t that big of a deal. 

He grabbed the remote and set up the TV. Skipping through the channels, Dean saw it was mostly televangelist bullshit and the weather. The end of days was good for business, after all. Eventually, Dean managed to find some brainless soap to indulge in and he settled.

He caught Cas staring across at him with bloodshot eyes. Dean shifted, uncomfortable. “What’s up, Cas?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, eyes brimming with emotion, like he had to apologize for being human. Honestly, Cas wouldn’t look at it like that, but it was still kind of insulting almost. Dean let out a sigh.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said. There wasn’t too much Cas could do except wash his hands and abide by the five second rule. “Get some sleep. You’ll be better tomorrow.” He gave Cas a reassuring smile.

“I don’t want you to take care of me,” Castiel said, shifting beneath the covers fitfully. “I don’t want to be useless. Or a burden. Though I am.” Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t tell Cas he wasn’t a burden, that he was a lifeline, but that was a bit much—even if it was the truth.

“You fished my ass out of hell,” Dean muttered. “Guess you could say I owe you one.” Cas started to say something but he broke off coughing.

Eyes watering, Cas argued, “Even if it was Heaven’s design to raise you from Hell, it was Heaven’s design that placed you there as well. When I raised you, it wasn’t for your benefit, Dean.”

“Think I don’t know that?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice soft because Cas winced and pulled his sheets tighter around his body. “Things change. People do.” Dean frowned. He knew Cas didn’t want to feel weak but…Cas was shrugging of Dean’s care every step of the way.

“Hey Cas, is this too much?” Dean asked, voice cracking a little, the traitor. “You need me to let up?” When it came to relationships, Dean usually ditched first, but this wouldn’t have been the first time he’d smothered someone with his attention.

Cas looked dismayed in a way that made Dean flush with relief. “No, Dean, understand I’m incredibly grateful for your help, your guidance,” he said. “It’s just that I used to be superior to you. Now…now I’m not even your equal.” What the hell was Dean supposed to say to that?

“Well, thanks,” Dean said, unsure if he should be offended or concerned. Cas just looked at Dean, desperately sad. “Guns are the great equalizer,” Dean settled on, his father’s words, maybe a little dismissively though he was shooting for reassuring. He trusted that Cas wasn’t _ trying _ to be insulting. “And you’re a decent shot.”

“I don’t just mean physically,” Castiel sulked. He shut his eyes, looking exhausted. “You and your brother were equals.” So that was his problem. Cas had been an angel so long he’d never learned the simple basics of how humans got by. Given that Dean wasn’t the best teacher, Cas was feeling like a load Dean had to carry now.

“Okay, well, you’re a damn sight more loyal. When I need someone in my corner, you’ve been in it and I can’t—” Dean started, and couldn’t finish. “If you think I need Sam 2.0 you’re wrong—alright? I’ve been looking out for my brother since the moment he was born, and all he did was throw that back in my face. So, _ I _ say, good riddance.”

“You don’t truly mean that,” Cas said, and he sounded pained.

“What the hell else am I s’posed to mean?” Dean asked, feeling the anger light and burn. But Cas was sick, he had to go easy on him. “There’s a reason Sam and I went our separate ways, and—and there’s a reason why he said yes even if I—” Dean’s throat closed up. Even if he’d never know why.

Dean wasn’t a solitary creature, that was true. But to say Dean was trying to make Cas fill the space Sam had left was just plain wrong. There was no obligation to look after Castiel the way he’d been expected to look after his brother. Die for his brother. He wasn’t going to choke on this. It was just him and Cas looking out for each other. And as angry as Dean was with him, no one could take Sam’s place, anyhow.

“Just keep it together, man,” Dean concluded. _ “I _ don’t need powers, right? Neither do you. We need all hands on deck and actually it doesn’t matter that you feel like you should be doing more, we _ all _ feel like that. So _ do _ more. You ain’t special. Get better and do better.” Cas just looked sad and weak and utterly unconvinced.

Dean was going to have to shoot for something vulnerable or else Cas was never gonna quit moping. “Me and Sam…the reason we broke away is because we knew we were always going to be used against each other,” Dean sighed. “And I don’t know what the hell happened to Sam but. You and I. We gotta look out for each other. But we also gotta look out for the big picture.”

“Don’t worry Dean,” Castiel said, seeing the distance. “I understand the big picture.” Dean got that. Cas had been a soldier. All about strategy. It had pissed Dean off when they’d first met, but it was coming to be a relief now. “And I’m not your brother.” Cas glanced away, fitful. “I have no brothers.”

“If you see a chance, and I’m in the way,” Dean went on, not willing to take the bait on Cas’s family crises. “You take the shot. This is bigger than both of us.” It was clear that this was a two-way street. Castiel nodded at the order, face incredibly serious. And damn, Dean really hadn’t wanted to get into all of this, especially when Cas was as sick as he was. Dean frowned. “But you’re not a burden, man. No way.”

Cas had been worried that Dean was dragging around a dead weight out of sentimentality or obligation. That maybe Dean would sacrifice himself for Cas the way he’d sacrificed himself for Sam, to Sam, his entire life. He understood the dangers of Dean giving a shit about somebody else. He hadn’t wanted to screw Dean over in that sense, and that’d be a first.

But the honest truth was that Dean worked better with someone watching his back, and the fact that didn’t have to be family, that it could be someone he’d met at…a very weird time in his life, was unbelievably ideal. Plus, Cas explicitly didn’t want to become someone that could be used against Dean, and simultaneously was someone that was happy to let Dean use him. Dean couldn’t have asked for anything more. In heavy silence, Dean watched cable with Cas until he heard the water boil in the kettle.


	10. January 2011

_ January 3, 2011 – Eau Claire, Wisconsin _

“Dean,” Cas said carefully. “Have you seen my coat?”

“Got it dry-cleaned,” Dean replied, shifting his position on the bed to get more comfortable. “It’s hanging on the front door.” Cas went to check, pacing nervously in Dean’s peripheral. “No offense but, it was getting kind of ripe.”

“I, of course,” Cas said, with this look on his face like—_‘of course—I perspire now, how distasteful’ _. “Thank you.”

“Try it on,” Dean said, leaning back and watching Cas pull his coat over his shoulder. “Feel the difference?” He knew Cas hadn’t asked, but he’d dropped way more money on that coat than he would for his own stuff. Cas hesitantly brought the coat up around his shoulders.

“Not particularly,” Cas said. Well, he would. Someday. At least he wasn’t complaining about the dry-clean smell.

“I keep telling you, Cas, it’s not all bad,” Dean offered. “Being human. There’s music. Sex. Food.” He’d have to teach Cas the finer points of humanity. Maybe he’d make him a mixtape or something.

“Drugs, alcohol,” Cas agreed, adjusting his coat. “I know the distractions humans use to avoid thinking about their own mortality.” That was one way of putting it.

“Well,” Dean said. “That’s the thing about distractions. They make life worth living.”

“I could have lived for an eternity,” Cas said.

“Well, sorry,” Dean said, trying not to be too sour. Cas ran his hands across the front of his coat, like he was trying to parse the sensation. Then he moved to sit next to Dean on a bed overlooking the TV set. Dean wasn’t really watching but Cas had become semi-addicted to daytime TV ever since he’d gotten sick.

“What’s the plot?” Cas spoke up. He didn’t understand TV any better, he was just more invested now, and he’d sometimes demand interpretations from Dean.

“Well, Cas, it’s a soap,” Dean tried explaining. “So, it’s about as complicated as you could get it.” Cas turned his eyes back to the TV, lips parted just so.

“…Complex, and yet at its core—so simple,” he mused. “Like the firing of a synapse.” Dean was gonna give Cas a disapproving look when the TV switched off with a crackle and the rest of the room fell into darkness. The lights had gone out.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean complained. He wandered over to the edge of the room, swiping the curtains open to light it up again. “Power’s out.”

“It’s poor weather,” Cas offered from the bed.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Wind probably knocked out a line.” He sighed, taking out his cellphone, holding it up. “No signal,” he muttered. This day honestly couldn’t get better.

“Listen,” Dean spoke up to Cas. “There’s no driving in this weather.” He hadn’t sprung for winter tires yet and snow was starting to settle in, something Dean wasn’t up to risking. He tossed Cas the keys. “Pack up, and I’m gonna check out if there’s any stores open to stock up on food.” Cas nodded and Dean took his leave.

They weren’t that far from the town’s shops and Dean needed the time to collect his thoughts. He kept checking his phone to see if he’d get a connection but he never did. He tried not to be paranoid. The roads were not being salted, and in fact, as far as Dean could see, most people weren’t on the roads in general. It was creepy.

Most places weren’t closed. Reassuringly, a car drove by, slow but still kicking up some mud. Wisconsin was just a lake away from Michigan which had gotten pretty solidly trashed last year when Lucifer had hitched a ride with Sam. It was just a bit too close for comfort. If there _ was _ something going on, Dean and Cas would need to split pretty fast, but Dean wasn’t ready to call it in quite yet.

He’d been meaning to pick up some food, but the grocery store was closed. Dean considered some petty larceny but figured the world wasn’t over yet. Sure, the town looked abandoned, and the snow was coming down pretty hard now, settling thick on the streets, and it was brisk enough for Dean to see his breath, but it was just paranoia. First building he saw with its lights on, he headed in.

“Hi,” Dean said to the only employee in the bar. “Power’s on?” It was warmer in here than outside, though not by much, and it was still a relief to see someplace still working.

The bartender shook his head. “It’s on a generator,” he said. Dean bobbed his head.

“Are you open for business with the outage?” The bartender shrugged.

“I started my shift before the lights went out, and I’m _ getting _ my eight hours,” he said, frank. Dean shrugged.

“Alrighty,” he said. “Consider me a patron. You guys got a menu?” Dean wasn’t the first to volunteer for bar food, but these were desperate times. The bartender shook his head.

“Cook called in sick,” he said.

“Right,” Dean sighed. Wasn’t that hungry anyway. “Can I get a whiskey? Leave the bottle.” The bartender smirked.

“For the cold?” he asked. Some douchebag with a neck tattoo.

“Sure,” Dean said, pulling up a barstool and hunching over the counter.

“So,” the bartender said, pouring Dean a glass and setting the bottle beside it. Dean had to shell out cash given that the machines weren’t working. “Haven’t seen you around here before.” He was bored, probably. There was only so many times you could wipe the counter clean, Dean guessed.

“Me ‘n’ a buddy are just passing through town,” Dean said.

“Connor,” the dude introduced himself, holding his hand out for Dean to shake. Dean took it to be polite.

“Sorry, Connor,” he said. “I really just feel like drinkin’ by myself today.” Connor’s face closed off, seeming a little offended.

“Just doing my job,” he muttered, turning away. Dean sighed into his glass and knocked it back. Christ, what a shitty day.

They’d come to Wisconsin on reports of the Croatoan virus spiking. He and Cas had gone undercover as the CDC but there was really not much that could be done about all that. The doctors were all dealing as best they could be and, frankly, they probably had a better understanding of how to handle infections than Dean or Cas did.

The infected people—Croats as they’d been called—were violent, they wanted to kill, to spread the virus. And so, the hospital staff sedated them. The doctors were all suited up like astronauts to deal with their patients, and there were talks about converting some of the local buildings into makeshift sick houses. They actually, as far as Dean could tell, had it handled. It wasn’t like him or Cas could go in there and start killing all the infected. Especially not when the city was doing a decent job at keeping things under wraps.

And the thought had been scratching at the back of Dean’s mind that—with the power outage—the infected had escaped. But hospitals had generators, and if this dinky little bar could keep its shit together, Dean could have some confidence. Besides, there was little Dean could do to help if something like that happened—just hope for something along the lines of divine intervention to keep the virus from spreading out of Wisconsin.

Either way, this had been a setback. Dean had never seen so many people infected in the same place. Wisconsin was still out of the way, and it wasn’t the end of the world, but the virus was definitely back. Now, with the weather, they’d been locked in for longer than Dean’d been planning. Just a lot of situations Dean was helpless to help.

Behind him, Dean heard the doors breeze open. He didn’t bother to check, he knew who it was. “You shouldn’t drink alone,” Cas said reproachfully.

“You gonna join me?” Dean asked. Cas made room for himself next to Dean at the bar and that made Dean feel a little guilty. Obviously, Cas was worried about him. Cas should’ve been worrying about more important things but he liked Dean for whatever reason so here they were. “I’m fine Cas,” he said. “I’m just…” he trailed off.

“In need of a drinking partner,” Cas finished easily, propping his elbows up on the bar, making himself comfortable. He seemed a little more relaxed about the whole nascent alcoholism thing than Dean would’ve expected. So, either he got it, or just didn’t give a shit. Maybe he just wanted to drink, too.

Dean nudged an empty glass next to Cas, raising an eyebrow. Cas nodded and Dean poured him a couple fingers’ worth of whiskey. Cas accepted and drank it down. It wouldn’t be enough to get Cas drunk but Cas’s limits had been changing lately. Cas poured himself another drink. And another.

“Okay, cool it, Hemmingway,” Dean said, pulling the bottle away from Cas. Cas didn’t fight for it and Dean figured they were fine. “How’d you find me?” Dean asked, squinting over at Cas.

“I heard your pain,” Cas said, voice hoarse. Okay, they weren’t going to get into that.

“I’m thinking of driving up to Indiana,” Dean confessed. He’d been consciously or unconsciously edging them eastwards as it was this past little while. Things were getting worse and he wanted to warn Lisa, or make sure she was out, or really just see her one last time.

Thankfully, Cas was on board. “The weather’s warmer in Indiana this time of year,” he agreed. “Lights are likely to be on there, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Maybe.” He took a drink. Of course, that was his worry, that whatever had struck here was not limited to here alone. Indiana wasn’t that far from Michigan, and while Detroit had been in the process of rebuilding itself with financial aid straight out of the taxes Dean didn’t pay, Dean couldn’t shake the thought that that whole area was cursed.

Cas shifted in his seat. “How are you doing, Dean?” he asked, lids low over his eyes as they considered each other.

“I’m not going off the deep end or anything,” Dean said, gesturing at the bar. “There just ain’t anything else to do in this town but drink.” The bartender let out a little laugh at that from the other side of the bar. Dean stole some peanuts, a little irritated they were being listened in on but. On the other hand, he _ was _hilarious and at this rate saying something like ‘I’ll be here all week’ wasn’t liable to be an exaggeration. 

Cas leaned in closer to Dean, voice low, whiskey on his breath. “Dean—the power is out all across central Wisconsin,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Could just be the weather, Cas,” Dean muttered back, just as quiet.

“I agree,” Cas replied. “But I’m concerned.” Dean looked down at his drink, dark in the low light of the bar. He took a sip.

“Yeah,” he agreed, talking around the burn. “You thinkin’…the virus?”

“I’m not sure how a power outage and a pandemic would relate to each other,” Cas admitted. “But I can’t help but feel that they are connected.” Dean nodded. “The car is packed. I think—perhaps another night, but then we should move on.” Seemed about right.

“Hang on, did you guys say something about a pandemic?” the bartender asked, walking up to them. Dean shifted, taking another swallow, trying to have patience for this kid who, as far as Dean could tell, knew jack about squat. “Because I heard about that. Something like rabies has been infecting people? They’re all quarantined down at the hospital but—do you think—”

Then the bartender cut himself off, looking at the doorway. His body language shifted into something more guarded as somebody new staggered into the bar, already looking half-drunk. “Hey there,” the bartender called out. Cas turned around to watch the newcomer.

“Hey,” the stranger replied. A woman. She looked to be about forty with dirty blonde hair cropped in a bob, a jacket wrapped tight around her shoulders. “What happened to the power?”

“Beats me,” the bartender said, relaxing.

“Get me one of what he’s having,” the woman said, glancing over at Dean’s drink. Dean grinned, sliding the bottle further along the table so she could see it. But she didn’t really seem to notice him. “Can you show me where the bathroom is?” she asked. The bartender, who’d been grabbing her a glass, seemed irritated. He walked around the bar to lead her down a hall to the bathroom.

“Maybe the bartender knows something after all,” Cas said. He’d described the Croatoan virus as ‘rabies’, which indicated he was familiar with it.

“Doubt he knows more than we do,” Dean said. “Maybe we should check by the hospital before we go. Make sure it still has power.”

“If it’s lost power, I would think we should drive far away as quickly—” Cas started pointing out but there was a shattering noise out in the hallway. Dean glanced at Cas and fished out his weapon.

“She bit me!” the bartender yelled, staggering back out into the room. He cast a horrified look of disgust behind him. “What the _ fuck, _lady?”

“Now, is that how you’re supposed to treat a customer?” the woman asked, emerging into the main room, teeth red in her grin. She cocked her head to the side, fixing a look of amusement on Dean and Cas. “I’d like to speak to a manager.”

Dean trained his gun on her. “Don’t move,” he told her. He glanced over at Cas, who nodded an affirmative, as though Dean needed any more confirmation that she was infected.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I’m a—” and, with her providing a relatively stationary target, he shot her in the forehead.

“Oh my god!” the bartender screamed. “What the _ fuck!” _

“Dean, the bartender’s likely infected too,” Cas pointed out.

“No!” the bartender screamed. “No, don’t kill me! Please, please don’t—” And he started to pick himself to run when the window shattered and so did the bartender’s throat, blood splashing across Dean’s face, warm and wet.

Dean didn’t even look behind him, he leapt over the bar and hid over on the other side. The bullets started hitting the wall above where Dean and Cas were, raining glass and booze down onto them. Dean ducked his hands over himself, trying to protect his neck, grateful for his thick winter coat now splashed with rum and brandy.

The gunfire stopped and Dean quickly snuck a peak over the bar—there was a fucking _ tank. _ “Is that the _ army?” _ Dean blurted out, ducking back down to look over at Cas. Cas seemed to be trying to heal the bartender, crumpled and bloody next to them, but it was too late. Christ, they needed to run.

“We’re civilians!” Dean yelled out. Cautiously, he lifted his head above the bar. “We’re friggin’ _ civilians _ you motherfu-”

“Dean, get down!” Cas yelled louder, all but tackling Dean to the floor and into glass as the shooting started up again.

The rest of the booze on the back walls lit up like glass fireworks as the tank resumed shooting. Dean hadn’t seen this kind of firepower in his life. “There’s gotta be a backdoor,” Dean yelled over to Castiel who nodded, jaw tight. Then he licked his lips, turning back to the window and raising a purposeful hand.

Suddenly the guns stopped firing. Cas turned back to Dean. _ “Go,” _he said forcefully. Dean didn’t need to be told twice. Glass crunching beneath his shoes, Dean shoved his way into the kitchen, Cas on his heels, and found the back way out, sprinting down the alley, skidding on ice.

And the streets were busy now, full of tanks and infected people. Dean hugged the walls panting, hiding in the doorway of the side street, till the army rolled passed. The fucking US military. No doubt this had something to do with the virus. Shit, it looked like the virus spread so quick between yesterday and this morning that the government had decided it was time to toast the city and be done with it, civilians be damned.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean said. “We gotta get back to the motel and hope they haven’t shot up our ride.” Cas was already nodding.

“Let’s go,” he said. So, they went.

Fortunately, Baby was still in one piece and Dean all but dived into the front. Normally, Dean wouldn’t drink and drive but what were the cops gonna do? Shoot him? He turned on the engine without bothering with his seatbelt and as soon as Cas was inside the car, Dean pressed his foot on the gas, the passenger door slamming as they drove off

Obviously the US military had had the same idea as Dean—nuke the virus where it was. But still, Dean hadn’t been expecting it. And he didn’t expect that it would help much, either. They weaved passed some people, a few of which cried and screamed after Dean, begging him to rescue them, but, even if Dean wasn’t wise to their tricks, him and Cas were too busy trying to survive to stop and help.

It took a few hours of pulling over and speeding past, but steadily the backdrop of the carnage faded, and they passed city limits back out into the country. “Jesus Christ,” Dean hissed, tipping his head back as he drove. He started to laugh. “Good _ god. _ How the hell’d we make it out of there? Those guys were all over the place!” Dean wouldn’t feel safe until they were out of the state, but this was definitely a start.

“Must’ve been providence,” Cas joked, leaning his head into his hands, just a s relieved. Dean laughed louder. He must’ve been just a little hysterical, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Well, that settles it,” he chuckled. “We’re going to Indiana.” He hooted loudly and turned the music on loud to keep himself from losing it. “Go Pacers!” he called. Looking over to his right, Dean thought he saw Cas bite down a laugh, but that could’ve been a trick of the light. A little looser now, they made a beeline for Cicero.

_ January 16 2011 – Cicero, Indiana _

The working theory for what had happened in Wisconsin had been part government overreaction, part demon intervention. It had definitely set some sort of precedent, but fortunately there hadn’t been any rumours of the infection spreading. So, the military strike had been effective, in a way. The fact that it had been the start of a pandemic was not something that was advertised. They were calling it a terrorist attack.

“This is a perfect home for a first-time family,” the realtor was saying. “One master bedroom, and another bedroom that can be converted into a guest bedroom or an office workspace if it won’t be used.”

“How many bathrooms?” Cas wondered, as though it was relevant. Dean rolled his eyes, pacing ahead in the house, looking over the windows, the doorways, for hints of Lisa or Ben.

“Two,” the realtor replied. “But this house is snug in the heart of Cicero, within walking distance of most amenities, and a gorgeous property.” Dean hadn’t seen anything in the yard that could’ve indicated that a kid had lived here, it looked like Lisa had packed herself up nicely to wherever she headed to.

“How’s the real estate market?” Cas asked the realtor idly. “Given the recent attack in Eau Claire.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been a problem,” she replied, probably bluffing to inspire confidence. “The refugees aren’t relevant to the buyers’ market in most cases and terror attacks in Wisconsin don’t really change people’s confidence here in Indiana. It’s…tragic what happened but…it won’t happen here. Especially with the military and police working together now.”

“Right,” Cas nodded. He tossed Dean a knowing look and Dean suddenly noticed how thick Cas’s stubble was starting to come in.

“This is the kitchen,” the realtor said, gesturing around herself. “Beautiful countertops, and lovely windows overlooking the yard. And I just want to be clear, this is a really good neighborhood,” she went on. “Really liberal.”

“That’s nice,” Cas said neutrally. The realtor bobbed her head nervously.

“So, how long have you two been together?” she asked. Before Dean could intervene, Cas let out a huff of air.

“We started travelling together sometime last year,” he said. “But we’ve known each other since 2008.” He looked over to Dean confirmation. Dean could only gulp like a fish.

“Two years together and you’re already buying a house together?” the realtor asked, sounding some place between shocked and impressed. “You two must be really committed.”

“We are,” Cas said firmly. Dean smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need to hit the head. Ms…” he trailed off.

“Just call me Wendy, please,” she said, unfazed. “Bathroom’s just back through the kitchen.”

“Wendy,” he nodded. “You can show Cas the other rooms, I’ll catch up.” Jesus Christ. He definitely hadn’t told the realtor he and Cas were—involved, but here they were, already married in Massachusetts as far as she knew. Kind of funny, if it wasn’t so annoying.

He’d planned to snoop without her watching, but he also actually needed to go number one so he took this as an opportunity to relieve himself. Inside the bathroom he fumbled around for some reading material, feeling weird. There was hardly a hint of Lisa in this house, and it’d be strange to straight up ask the realtor who the seller was since she hadn’t provided the details.

Lisa had, however, far as Dean could tell, gotten straight outta Dodge. It wasn’t like he knew who she was anymore. God, he’d been so young when he’d met her, about twenty years old, totally alone for the first time in his life and still finding his sea legs. She’d been great—_they _, they’d been great. Being able to see women, live with her if only for a few days, without worrying about his dad had been one of the perks of hunting alone and he’d taken it, gladly.

Outside the bathroom, he wandered around the kitchen, combing the place for a hint of Lisa and Ben, proof that they’d really been here. Out of idleness, he kicked open the trashcan and sure enough. On top of packing paper and cardboard, were a few photos. Newspaper articles faded brown—Ben’s kindergarten class dressed up for Halloween, Ben’s baseball team winning a game, Lisa’s yoga class. They’d left in a hurry.

Beyond their obvious chemistry, easy and electric, Dean finding out that Lisa’d had a kid had changed things for him. Sure, she’d occupied someplace special in him, but finding out about Ben, about the life Lisa had lived in the near-decade they hadn’t seen each other in while he’d been bleeding in alleyways—Dean had moved past any expectation that he’d once had about him and Lisa but that had been a trip.

Sam had always mourned his lack of relationship with their mother, had sort of coveted the four years Dean had on him in which he was clothed and fed and loved by Mary Winchester. But sometimes, particularly in that stretch of time with Dad before he died…Dean had wanted to tell him that it was not their mom Sam should be missing, but their father.

Their father who, rose-tinted and naive, Dean had waited for his entire childhood to come home. The man who didn’t teach his kids how to repair and maintain illegal rifles or how to drive before they’d even hit puberty, but how to ride a bike, how to play ball. The man who’d settle home after a hard day’s work at wherever John used to work, and cuddle with Mary on the couch, Dean sat on his lap, as they watched TV and speculated about the baby growing in her belly.

Dean had waited on him, the man he was sure would return if they killed enough monsters, and definitely if they killed the one that had robbed them of their home, that was the man Sam never knew, even in passing. But for Dean, just the memory of him is what had always kept Dean so deeply tied and devoted to his family. When he was young, in every ghost and ghoul they came across, Dean had felt that inside them, deep, there may be some ticket to bringing his father back. To finally laying the demon of grief inside John Winchester to rest.

Losing Mary, had destroyed him in ways Dean couldn’t even _ fathom_. He hadn’t been perfect before, but Mary’s death had utterly wrecked him and Dean, Dean could see that happening to himself so easily. Seeing Lisa, seeing her kid, was like seeing a future. A future Dean didn’t know if he could fit in. And a future he didn’t know he could handle.

Of course, Dean had actually been sent into the future, even if it had just been one of Zachariah’s lies. Dean had gotten to see first hand that, yes. He was never going to have the apple pie life that Sam had always wanted, that John had always wanted, that Dean…It didn’t matter what Dean wanted. Just, looking around the place, Dean could see he could’ve built a life here.

Cas wandered back into the kitchen, then. He caught Dean staring at the photograph and something in his expression softened as he waited for Dean to speak. Dean couldn’t. To fill the silence, Cas said, “I was watching the insects outside. Their habits are…extraordinary. The way they move and communicate with each other…it’s every bit as impressive as the way humanity coordinates to build empires. Or topple them.”

Dean took a breath. Cas went on, “And of course they don’t know that the world is ending. They simply keep puttering away as one would expect, sleeping peacefully. We can’t judge them for being hopeful, of course.” Cas was…Cas _ had _to be high. If not literally, than functionally. But Dean found himself appreciating Cas’s nonsense. It gave Dean an out, if he needed it. But he really didn’t, and he didn’t deserve one either.

“You know, I uh, almost thought he might be mine,” he confessed. Seeing Ben, for a split-second, Dean had thought—irrationally, wildly—that maybe he was his, somehow. He’d seen the resemblance, both physical and in the way Ben carried himself, in the way he acted and the way he thought, and damn. Everything Dean had wanted, everything he was not supposed to ever get, was close enough to taste. “Stupid, right?” Dean laughed.

Castiel stance shifted almost unnoticeably next to Dean, except that Cas was always so still that little things like that screamed out. Dean figured briefly that Cas hadn’t been able to pick up on what he’d said, vague as it was, but he was wrong. “You’re not stupid, Dean,” was all Cas said in reply, and it came out so honest that it somehow meant the world to Dean.

“Appreciate it, Cas,” he said, setting the photo and newspaper clippings gently down on the counter and patting Cas’s shoulder appreciatively. “But if I’d been just that much smarter, I woulda told Lisa and Ben to run last time we were in the neighborhood.”

He’d told her goodbye, he told her something was going to happen that he was tangled up in and couldn’t avoid. Thankfully, Lisa had always struck Dean as being smarter than him, so she’d been able to take care of herself. Now he had no idea where they were, could only hope they were doing well. That they’d run as fast and far away from Dean as they could.

“We didn’t think it would come to this,” Castiel argued, and it was kind of him to do so. “We had hoped.” We. “I don’t have the ability to locate souls anymore,” Cas confessed, changing the subject, and as though that was a thing Dean had ever expected him to be able to do. It was good to know, in its own way. “But the fact they’re no longer here bodes well.”

“Still, I should’ve told her,” Dean said, frank, stress welling his throat. It was great that Lisa and Ben were gone, that this place was still on the market despite real estate prices plummeting…Dean could only hope they’d gone somewhere better, Canada maybe. He didn’t think anything bad had happened to her…yet. Hell, maybe half of this desire to know where she was was a desire to run away with her, to abandon his responsibilities.

“So,” Wendy said, coming up from behind them, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible but failing miserably with her chipper, pushy tone. She needed to move this along. “What do you two think about it, so far?”

Dean looked at the floor, the scuffed wooden planks. “We’ll have to think about it some more,” Cas said, polite.

“Alright, well, let me know as soon as you can,” Wendy said. “I have a family coming in tomorrow, and I’m meeting with another couple on Friday.” Dean flinched.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Cas lied politely, moving outside into the crisp wintry air, Dean following.

Cas stuck his hands in his pockets, shivering a little in his trench coat. The sun was out but the ground was still caked in frost from where shadows had been cast since morning. It was a nice day, still and kind of peaceful. Dean let out a breath of air, walking through the cloud as they left Lisa’s house behind and crossed the street to the Impala.

In hindsight, Dean was able to appreciate that he’d let her slip through his fingers. Because if things worked out, he could always find her again. And if things got bad…and he’d had her…and he’d lost her…Even just seeing her kid had driven Dean’s brain up the wall in fear and horror that he wouldn’t be able to treat the two of them right. That he was just too damaged for a gentle life. But then, even supposing they could’ve been happy together, if he had lost her…Dean couldn’t help but fear he’d lose himself too.

He could count the women he’d gotten close to, truly close to, on one hand and even then, something had always come up. He had always chickened out, or scared them off. And he didn’t know if it was the incompatibility of his life with theirs, or if it was his fear that something happening to them would break something in him, that thing—whatever it was—that was keeping him from becoming the worst parts of his father. He’d seen 2014. He’d recognized John there.

Hell, even if Ben and Lisa would be safer with him, which was something Dean also couldn’t guarantee considering that he’d apparently lose Bobby in Zachariah’s future, they wouldn’t necessarily be better off with him either. Everything Dean touched seemed to crumble. He’d lost Sam, lost Adam, Bobby couldn’t walk. He’d nearly gotten Ellen and Jo killed, and he’d lost Jo a sweetheart. And fuck, if the rest of the world itself wasn’t falling to shit thanks to Dean’s choices.

And then there was Cas. Didn’t say much, didn’t even seem to particularly like Dean a quarter of the time, but he was there regardless. At the moment, in fact, Cas was looking around Lisa’s old property, maybe trying to recognize her in the walls, in the emptied or forgotten picture frames. Trying to see maybe how she and Dean would’ve fit.

“You know, you,” Dean tried, when they were both settled in the front seats of the Impala. “I just want to say…I appreciate you stickin’ around, Cas.”

“You don’t need me,” Cas agreed thoughtfully. “And I’m becoming increasingly useless by the day.” Well, that took a turn.

“Hey, it’s not your fault you—” Dean tried, because Cas losing his mojo had everything to do with him deciding to stick with Team Humanity and not his brothers and sisters. And Dean was, well, _ trying _ to thank him for the gesture, but Cas was not making it easy. Dean narrowed his eyes. “Cas,” he said. “Feel like grabbing a burger?”

Cas looked surprised in the change in topic. Dean was starving, frankly, and he figured what had been good for Jimmy would probably suit Cas too. With the lights out in Wisconsin, and the Braedens migrating elsewhere no doubt along with many others—there soon wouldn’t be a single burger joint left in the world at the rate things were going.

“I’m not hungry,” Cas replied, but then his stomach growled, like the thought of food had been enough to remind him that that things weren’t that simple anymore. Cas looked somewhat ashamed by his body’s response, and Dean clapped a hand on his arm.

“C’mon,” he sweet-talked, keeping his voice low and comforting. “There’s this great place nearby.” They hadn’t had the opportunity last time he’d come to town. Castiel nodded, and he just looked at Dean with his big blues. There wasn’t much Dean could read off of Cas; on one hand guy was like an open book, but on the other it was written in a language Dean’d never even heard of.

But, if Dean had to put a number on it, he’d say Cas was grateful for the company. Dean honestly didn’t know how well he’d be coping right now with the loss of…without someone like Cas to work with. Dean’d never worked well alone, casualty of humanity right there, and Cas made a much better partner than Dean deserved. When they got to the restaurant, Cas had already put down a burger in the time Dean took to commandeer the retro jukebox.

_ January 24, 2011 – Lawrence, Kansas _

Dean’s birthday last year had been a steaming pile of crap. Sam had been locked up in an insane asylum, hunting some kind of wraith, and Dean had drunk himself to sleep in his car just so that he wouldn’t speak to Bobby. It wasn’t that Sam and Dean had ever thrown a big celebration, they weren’t twelve, but they’d at least go out for a slice of pie or something if they remembered, if they had time for it. It wasn’t a big deal. But the absence of choice had fucked Dean up a bit.

He’d hated fighting his brother. Right till the end. It wasn’t that he’d taken any satisfaction from turning away from Sam, rejecting him time and time again, hoping Sam could walk the straight and narrow by himself without needing his big brother to tell him what the right thing to do was. Dean didn’t know if he’d over or underestimated his brother but at the end of the day the results were the same. Another birthday alone.

Cas didn’t know Dean’s D.O.B. or, if he did, he didn’t care to remember it or know the significance of birthdays in general. That was fine. Dean didn’t feel like celebrating. Thirty-two years old. Ankle deep in an apocalypse he’d helped start. Dean felt like drinking, but not for fun. Still, they had a while to drive and Dean wasn’t about to throw in his hat just yet.

Pulling up in front of the old house, Dean parked and got out of the front seat, walking up the front steps. He’d hardly had to knock before Missouri opened the door to greet them. “Dean Winchester!” she smiled, bright as Christmas lights, pulling Dean down into a hug.

“Missouri,” Dean greeted with a grin. She smelled the same as she had all the time he’d ever known her, something like soap and lavender, a comforting, familiar scent. It was good to see her again.

“Oh honey,” Missouri said, pulling back. “I’m sorry for your losses.” Dean felt an uncomfortable chill travel down his spine. He didn’t like how seen Missouri made him feel, but she understood, so it wasn’t the worst thing ever.

“Leave it to a psychic to cut right through the small talk, huh?” he muttered, and she was already eyeing him and Cas.

“You know, I heard about the last psychic to work with you,” Missouri said disapprovingly. She was talking about Pamela.

“Yes, uh,” Cas said, putting up his hand. “That was…an accident.” Missouri’s eyes opened wide, then narrowed.

“Castiel,” she said. She was quiet for a moment. Then, “You boys better come inside.”

Missouri’s place was much barer than Dean could’ve remembered. Coming down here as a kid, her home had been packed full of knickknacks and trinkets. Now, everything was packed up in boxes, ready to move.

“So, want to tell me why you’ve come?” she asked, setting out the coffee for them on a tray she placed on the table between the three of them.

“You know anything about the archangels, Missouri?” Dean asked, taking his drink, giving it a quick blow and a gulp.

“I know about Lucifer,” Missouri said. “Michael. But I tend to look away from things that concern angels.”

“Could you look for us?” Castiel asked. She looked him over with a little intense light in her eyes, placing her palm on the back of his hand.

“Why, you’re hardly an angel anymore, are you?” she asked, looking at him shrewdly. Cas flinched, looking back down to his mug.

“Please Missouri,” Dean said. “We just want some way of knowing if…if any of them are still alive.”

“Do you have any token-objects?” Missouri asked. “Something they’ve touched?”

“Gabriel’s DVD,” Cas realized. “I can get it and return.” He zapped himself away, as though to prove he could do it, sending some papers scattering.

“He’s a little twitchy,” Missouri noted. She got to her feet and walked over to one of her boxes, fishing through it to pull out a Bible. She turned through the pages, hunting angels. “So that’s the archangel Gabriel. Michael. I assume you don’t need me to look for the Devil.”

“I’d rather have something to fight him with before I cross that bridge,” Dean said, grinning a little. “There’s also Raphael. They all have weapons that could be used against Lucifer.” Missouri nodded.

“I can’t promise you that what I say will be reliable,” she told Dean. “People don’t usually come to me asking if their loved one is alive or not. Usually they already know the answer and want to me to see how they’re fairing.”

“Well, we can start there,” Dean said, smiling a little to himself.

“I wouldn’t know where Angels go when they pass,” Missouri mused.

“Could you try?” Cas spoke up. Missouri clutched her chest and Dean could’ve kicked him. “If they cease to exist entirely, perhaps absence of information could indicate something.” He looked at Dean and handed Missouri the DVD case. Missouri nodded.

She closed her eyes, holding the DVD case to her chest. A line in her forehead formed as she concentrated. Dean didn’t know how the hell this psychic thing worked, but he was glad it did. “He definitely exists,” she murmured after a moment. Dean didn’t know whether or not to be surprised, but Cas for one seem relieved, almost dropping where he stood with relief. “He’s not happy.”

“Good,” Dean said, suddenly feeling a little annoyed. No one was happy nowadays. “Where the hell is he?”

“That I can’t tell you,” she apologized. “And forgive me but I don’t want to ask.”

“He’s alive,” Cas said firmly. “What about Raphael?” he pressed. She closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know how to channel him. Are you certain you don’t have something he’s touched?” Castiel frowned. But Dean remembered, Donnie Finnerman.

“His vessel, right?” Dean asked. “You just had to give me a lovetap for Pamela to find you, and Raphael’s been around in Donnie’s skin.”

“Is this something we need to do?” Castiel asked, looking at Missouri like he was afraid to overtax her. “We know Raphael is in Heaven. Speaking to Raphael to explain our intentions would be good, but too risky to be worth doing.”

“We don’t know if he’s alive at this point, Cas,” Dean pointed out. “Lucifer could just be putting on a light show.” Cas’s jaw clenched shut.

“I’m not…certain I would be able to transport Donnie with me,” he admitted.

“Cas,” Dean said, because they’d driven this far and they weren’t going to drive an additional three thousand miles if they could help it. Missouri was already halfway out the door and Dean couldn’t ask her for more than just this day. “You gotta try, man.” Cas frowned, nodded.

“If I’m not back soon, ask about Michael,” he said, reaching over to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Jesus, Cas, this isn’t goodbye,” Dean said, shrugging off the touch.

“I’ll be at St. Peter’s Hospital,” Cas said firmly. “It was good to meet you, Missouri.” She seemed just as bemused as Dean. And with that, Cas zapped himself away again.

“Twitchy,” Missouri said again. “But polite.” Dean took another drink off coffee.

Within the minute, Cas delivered a whole ass person, nearly pitching over. “This is Donnie Finnerman,” Cas got out, and Dean helped Donnie into a chair, and let Cas take his, standing awkwardly. “Raphael’s vessel.”

“Is he alright?” Missouri asked, looking concerned at Donnie’s blank expression.

“Archangels aren’t typically kind to their vessels,” Cas said.

“I’m surprised Raphael gave him up,” Dean said frankly.

“When the angels all went back to Heaven, many left their vessels behind,” Cas murmured closing his eyes and massaging his forehead. All the travel looked like it’d left him exhausted.

“So, what do you think, Missouri?” Dean asked, putting a gentle hand on Donnie’s shoulder.

“I think you’ve kidnapped a hospital patient,” Missouri said disapprovingly. Dean could’ve blushed.

“We’ll take him back, right Cas?” he said. Cas shook his head, he was clearly too drained to zap Donnie over to Maine again. “Well, we’ll give him a ride, at any rate.”

“Try not to get arrested as you do,” Missouri replied. Gingerly she reached out to Donnie, who didn’t seem to notice. “How sad,” she murmured. “His family…they miss speaking to him terribly…Let’s see who did this to you…” she closed her eyes, holding Donnie’s limp hand in the two of hers.

“Ah yes,” she said. “I feel him. Raphael. He’s still alive—” she let go of Donnie’s hand. “But, I better not look closer.”

“That’s wise,” Cas agreed, and he sounded tired.

“And you wanted to know where Michael is, too,” Missouri murmured. “Do you have anything of his?”

“I…” Dean said. He cleared his throat, feeling Cas’s eyes on him. “I’m his vessel. His Sword. He never possessed me but…”

“It’s possible that Dean has a strong enough connection,” Cas nodded, barely keeping his eyes open. “Other than that, any connection to Michael would be in Heaven which I…no longer have access to.” Cas swayed in his seat.

“Alright, Missouri,” Dean said carefully, reaching his hands across the table so that Missouri could take them. “You don’t have to do this. This is Michael. He’s worse than the other two. You feel uncomfortable at any step of the way, just quit.” Missouri nodded.

“Close your eyes and concentrate,” she said softly. He obeyed, her wrinkling fingers fitting through his with a kind dry touch. Michael had never gotten close to possessing Dean, as much as Michael had promised him would happen when they had first seen each other in 1978. For the first time, Dean hoped the connection was there. Tried thinking Michael thoughts.

“I…I think I—” Missouri spoke up. She was quiet for a moment, then she let out a sigh of frustration. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she said. “I…I couldn’t see anything.” This was the first time Missouri had ever failed to give Dean an answer. When he was young, she and the warm space she’d cultivated around herself, had managed to pull him out of his shell when his mom had died. He owed a lot to her.

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you.” He swallowed. Michael had never even laid a hand on him. He racked his mind for something he could’ve missed, something Michael had touched. As far as Dean knew, the only thing Michael had ever touched was…his brother, and that was a whole problem in and of itself.

“What about,” Dean said. “What about Adam? My dad had another son. After. Years after.” Missouri pressed her lips together disapprovingly but other than that, didn’t say much. Cas reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring.

“He had this, for a time,” he said. “It belonged to a very powerful being. Try to focus in on the human energies associated with it.” Missouri nodded.

“I see him,” she said. “And a young woman. And you, Castiel. Is the young man your brother, Dean?”

Dean nodded, saying, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, he’s in pain,” Missouri, looking up at Dean. “The associations with this ring…both of your brothers.” Dean felt some sinking sense of dread. “They are…they’re both in pain…”

“Sam, too?” Dean asked, voice rough. Missouri handed the ring back to Cas.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she said. “I don’t know much about the situation but…Sam seems to oscillate between contentment and despair. I couldn’t describe the way he feels. And Adam, wherever he is, he’s hurting terribly.”

“Them’s the breaks for working with us, I guess,” Dean sighed out. With him. Dean knew where Sam was, but Adam…Adam could be anywhere. In Hell, tortured by demons, in Heaven, tortured by angels. Maybe Adam was alive, that’s usually what pain meant, maybe he was still holding Michael. That couldn’t be fun—hell, Dean was letting the whole world burn because he didn’t want Michael to possess him. But Dean knew it would be a different ballgame if Adam was alive.

“Heaven wouldn’t be much more comfortable than Hell right now, I would assume,” Cas said softly. “But…now we know he’s passed on. Gabriel’s alive, Raphael—alive, for now. This is good news. We have hope, still.” He looked over at Dean, eyes bloodshot and lined with exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking over at Donnie. “Alright,” he said, helping Cas to his feet. “Let’s get him home.”

Outside, they made Donnie comfortable in the backseat of the Impala. Cas sat in the back there with him, trying to give Donnie some silent comfort, Dean guessed. The winter sky was cold and gray, Dean turned back to Missouri for one last goodbye.

“Where are you going to go after this, Missouri?” Dean asked her.

“Don’t you worry about me,” she replied. “You have bigger problems to mind, and I know my way around.” Dean frowned. “It’s coming to Kansas soon, too. The sickness.” Dean gaped. She looked sympathetically at him. “I’m moving in with my son and his family and we will be moving on. We’ve already packed, as you might have noticed. I was just waiting for you to drop by.” Dean’s mouth felt dry.

“Is it really happening, Missouri?” he asked.

“Of course it is, honey,” she said. “It’s prophecy.” Dean clenched his jaw.

“Sorry I—” he said, laughing a little. “I can’t. I can’t afford to think that we’re just guided by—”

“By fate?” Missouri asked. She rested a comforting palm on his knuckles. “I know. Fate is a lot more flexible than you’d think, but there are things that we just can’t change.”

Dean cleared his throat. “You think this is one of them?” he asked.

“I hope it isn’t,” she replied. She was just as much in the dark as they were. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish I could give you some better news.” Dean nodded, biting the inside of his lip to keep himself from looking like he could break down.

“So, where you headed?” Dean asked. “Any psychic travel tips you could give us?”

Missouri smiled sadly. “You already know where you’re supposed to go,” she said. Christ. She pulled him down for another hug. “Happy birthday, Dean,” she spoke into his ear. He managed a smile.

“Thanks.”

_ January 24, 2011 – Effingham, Illinois _

Outside and on the road, sun sloping deeper in the sky, Cas caught Dean’s attention by the sleeve. “I think we should try to speak to Raphael, now that we have Donnie,” he said. “If the situation continues to deteriorate, we might not get this chance again.”

“You think your Grace won’t be able to hang in there?” Dean asked. Cas just cleared his throat and looked in the rearview back at Donnie. “Alright,” Dean relented, pulling over. They still had ingredients left over from last time and, if Cas’s Grace was sputtering, best get this over with while Dean still had an angel on his team.

They drew the circle in the dirt just off the highway and Cas did his spell. They waited. And they spoke into Donnie’s ear trying to coax Raphael down to ground. And they waited for Raphael to slide back into the ride he’d crashed and Dean watched Donnie’s face, slack and exhausted, as they used him one last time. But they got enough strange looks from people driving by to eventually pack up. Donnie dozed off in the backseat and, presently, so did Cas. Dean just kept driving with failure sinking deeper in his gut like a stone.


	11. February 2011

_ February 3, 2011 – Concord, New Hampshire _

The red oceans Zachariah had promised Dean manifested as some thick soup of toxic algae on the East Coast. Weirdly beautiful, and the fact that they secreted neurotoxins that killed off the marine life Cas assured Dean was least of the problem. The blooms would die, and they’d rot, and that’d use up the oxygen, killing off whatever was left in the waters. It was a bad time to be a fisherman, and the blooms weren’t supposed to be in season yet. After dropping Donnie back off at St. Peter’s, Dean and Cas spent some time in Maine before getting back on the road, staring at the bloody ocean.

Heading west, Dean was making his way through a tower of waffles. Cas was skipping breakfast, looking over the lake across from them. Dean’s body had gotten used to the richness of restaurant food and the cheapness of gas station snacks years ago, the boom and bust of a nomadic life. Cas was still getting used to having limits, and it became apparent pretty quickly that his body couldn’t handle eating out too much.

But well, Dean was a growing boy, at least around the midsection. Two square meals meant something was going right so he’d taken them out for breakfast. Still, Cas kept staring over at the lake. “Think the algae is gonna make its way to the lake?” Dean asked between mouthfuls of waffles.

“No,” Cas said. “The lakes run into the seas,” and then he shrugged modestly, “for now.” Dean nodded, not sure where to go from there. He paid for their meal and they started heading back.

In the parking lot, Dean noticed Cas wasn’t trending towards the Impala. Instead, he paced himself down to the lake. Which…weird but fair, and they had the time for it so Dean followed. “Wanna dip your feet, Cas?” Dean asked down at the shore, and honestly he was joking. But Cas, close to the water, crouched down to untie his shoes.

He stripped off his tie, eyes fixed as though he was possessed, kicking off his shoes, taking off his socks. “Uh, Cas,” Dean called out, getting a little worried. “Quick refresher, there’s something called public decency.” Cas stopped moved like he was going to strip, and just stepped forward into the water, sinking into it.

Dean gaped after him. It was fucking February, and yeah the sun was out but—it was nowhere near weather for Cas to go into the water like that. It was up to his hips, his waist, and then up to his chest. His arms were in the air, and the lake swallowed up his shoulders. Did he even know how to swim?

Guess Dean was going to have to get a little wet. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean hissed, kicking off his shoes and wading hip-deep in the lake to chase after Castiel. “Don’t drown.”

“It’s cold,” Cas noted, turning back from the water and moving closer to Dean and the shore, lips blue.

“It’s friggin’ _ freezing,” _ Dean corrected. “What the hell got into you?” The temperature and the panic was making Dean come off more pissed than he really was. Cas was pulling off his clothes, stripping the trench coat off and into the water, resting on the surface like an oil slick.

“I can _ feel _ it,” he said. “The water.” The way he said it made it sound significant, some revelation.

“Yeah?” Dean coaxed. He ran a hand across the lake, fingers combing through the water. The temperature wasn’t exactly making all this pleasant and knowing what a wimp Cas could get about being sick Dean didn’t want a repeat. “That’s what we’re going with?”

“Many different cultures have rituals,” Castiel murmured. “Spiritual rebirth. In holy rivers, blessed waters.” He sounded lucid, but Dean wasn’t about to make any assumptions about that.

“Like a baptism?” Dean asked, moving over to Cas’s side, gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable feeling of clothes sticking to skin.

“A cleansing,” Cas murmured. “I feel, I am unclean.” Dean didn’t know what exactly he could say to that.

“C’mon Cas,” he said, putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “That’s enough skinny dipping for one day.” Cas’s eyes narrowed, like he wanted to argue the word choice, but Dean just gripped him a tighter and tugged him back to shore.

Being out on the docks was even worse than being in the water thanks to the windchill. They wandered back to the Impala and opened the trunk. Dean had fished Cas’s coat out of the lake, completely drenched. “Guess that’s one way to give this thing a wash,” he mused conversationally. Cas’s face fell. Something was eating him.

Dean folded up the sopping material and set it down in the trunk. As he was there, he pulled out some spare clothes from the back, pants for himself and a shirt for Cas. The only other pants left over were…not Dean’s, and they were tall on Cas but Cas’d just have to sleep in the bed he’d made in that regard.

He tossed Cas the clothes and stripped out of his own drenched jeans, and uncomfortably pulled the new pair over his cold, wet skin. Cas seemed kind of frozen in place, not quite watching Dean but also too aware of what Dean was doing for Dean’s comfort. Dean angled his bottom half away from Cas. “Get dressed,” Dean ordered.

With that, Cas stuttered into motion, stripping off his waterlogged white shirt, sticking to his skin. Dean’s eye got caught on his hands as he undid the buttons. Cas shivered as he pulled the shirt off his shoulders and that was enough to get Dean to avert his eyes, feeling guilty for reasons he couldn’t name. Leaving Cas to figure out the rest, Dean hopped into the driver’s seat, slotting the key in to turn on the heat.

A minute later and Cas was inside next to him, trying to warm up. Dean looked him over. He filled out Dean’s clothes well, though his pants looped around his ankles a few times, and Dean almost had a moment of doting over him like he was a baby duck. Cas looked strange outside the trench coat, naked somehow. He hadn’t looked like that in the future but now, shivering in the shotgun seat next to Dean, pressed close to the heater, Cas seemed incredibly vulnerable.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why Cas had flipped like that and he didn’t know what question to ask to get a decent answer. He could also feel that it was too raw, in between them. He felt exhausted suddenly, the heater blowing almost too hot and muggy on his skin, but Cas’s teeth had finally stopped chattering.

To not kill the battery, Dean turned the engine off. He didn’t know where to go from here. He leaned his head against his headrest, feeling the heat fade away from his jeans. “Why the hell did you do that, Cas?” he asked, trying not to come off like he was upset. He wasn’t. He was just confused.

“My, ability to hear my brothers and sisters,” Cas confessed, “is failing. I’m not sure how much of that is due to the fact that I’m becoming weaker, and the fact that…my siblings are simply no longer speaking. I suppose both is a possibility.” He pressed his lips together and looked up, as though he was trying to keep himself from crying but, when he spoke, his voice was steady. “The Host revoked my ability to visit Heaven, and honestly, I can barely fly on Earth anymore. So, I can’t be sure but.” He looked to Dean. “I think the angels are really gone, Dean.”

“Yeah, that’s not news,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice gentle but wondering what Cas was getting at.

“Heaven and angels are—one cannot exist without the other,” Cas said. “We are paired electrodes on the same battery. If you have a piece of paper, I could draw a diagram—”

“Skip it, Cas,” Dean said, shutting the lecture down. He’d never been the booksmart brother. Yeah, he was handier than Sam and had rigged up a few things in the past, but Cas was gonna be talking about some quantum physics shit. There were just some things humans couldn’t wrap their brains around. “Give me the cliff notes.” Cas made a face, like he was offended, but he relaxed and tried again.

“Angels, Heaven, it’s all a manifestation of the same energy. New energy can be introduced into the system in the form of human souls, and souls are used to power Heaven but without—” Cas caught Dean’s glare, “without angels to maintain Heaven, Heaven _ will _fall. And without Heaven, so will the angels. A mutually assured destruction.”

“So, what, you’re afraid something’s going to happen upstairs?” Dean asked, getting to the meat of it. Castiel pressed his mouth shut.

“I suppose it’s no longer any of my business,” he said. “But yes.” Dean frowned.

“So, when people are dying here on earth…” he said, holding up a hand. “What, are we going to get ghosts?” He really didn’t need to add ghosts to be added to the list of shitty apocalypse threats to watch out for.

“Did you see that in the future?” Cas asked, and he looked really bothered by it.

“Uh, not that I could tell,” Dean said. Pretty sure someone would’ve mentioned it, even if the virus was probably a more pressing issue. Castiel let out a sigh of relief.

“Then we’re probably safe,” he said. “Either Lucifer chooses to maintain Heaven, or there is still some angel out there able to do so.” Dean didn’t feel like reminding Cas that the future Zachariah had shown him had probably been made-up. He was going to have nightmares about ghosts for weeks.

Still, he chuckled. “Ghosts, huh,” he said. “That’s almost cute in comparison to what we got in store.”

“Souls hellbent on wreaking destruction,” Cas said, disagreeing. “Is there much of a difference between ghosts and the infected?” Dean looked over at him.

“Just how much salt we need, I guess,” he said, trying to be cute. It didn’t help.

“We have to act quickly. Gabriel is a coward,” Castiel spoke up, discomfited. “But,” he allowed. “If we require an archangel blade, it is he or Raphael who will give it to us. Michael would not surrender his blade willingly.”

“At least without asking for a test-drive,” Dean said, feeling cold. He couldn’t be entirely opposed to that at this point. He’d seen how things were playing out; they were no closer to finding a weapon than before. They hadn’t gone after Michael, wherever he was, and there was always that chance that Michael wouldn’t play ball, even if Dean asked nicely.

Michael had threatened, after all, that if Dean didn’t say yes to him in time, he could lose his chance. And, in that future, Michael hadn’t answered Dean’s call. Dean had been too late. And that had been with Dean promising Michael a ride. Yeah. It would have to be Raphael or Gabriel.

“I understand their reasons,” Castiel said. “Gabriel doesn’t want to fight with his family, and Raphael believes too strongly in Michael to ever turn his weapon over to us.” Dean thought about angel blades and Grace. Given a few hours with Raphael, or hell, even Gabriel, he could probably change some minds.

“They’ll just have to be convinced to see things our way,” Dean said. He looked over Cas again. With his cold-reddened hands and lake-wrinkled fingers. The tips of his hair still damp from his swim. Seeming to notice Dean staring, Cas absentmindedly held his hands together, running a thumb across his knuckles like he was trying to soothe himself.

“I’ve never felt that before,” Cas said, almost like he was making small talk. “Water. Or the desire to feel water.” Dean frowned.

“Well, next time you wanna get wet, jump in the shower and learn about the beauties of water pressure instead,” he advised, turning the engine back on.

_ February 10, 2011 – Booker, Texas _

Cas had zapped off to Texas the other day to look into a potential Croat case. This morning, he’d called Dean to inform him that not only was the case real, but also a bust—given that the town had been relocated by the military so that they could comb through the citizens for the infected. And he didn’t neglect to mention that his radius of travel was running shorter than ever. It was exhausting Castiel to go longer distances and he wouldn’t be able to make it back to Bobby’s, which had kind of become the main base of operations.

So, Dean had agreed to pick Cas up. He’d blared the entire Led Zeppelin discography as he made his way over in an attempt to stay awake, boredom punctuated with brief moments of irritation and a grumbled insistence that he was going to teach Cas how to steal a car then how to drive it. Nevertheless, by the time he reached Booker something like loneliness had sunk into his bones and he didn’t mind making the trip all that much.

“Hey Cas, I’m here,” Dean spoke into the phone, glaring thoughtfully at the front of the building Cas had named as his location.

“I’m in the hotel’s bar,” Cas muttered over the line. Dean pouted, impressed.

“Hotel bar, huh?” he said. “Sounds swanky.” Cas didn’t say anything, and eventually the call cut out. The front door to the place was busted, and Dean let himself inside without much trouble. The hotel in question had a fancy map of the building displayed in the foyer, and Dean combed through it looking for the bar.

The sun was climbing pretty low in the sky outside, and it was a long way back to Bobby’s. Might as well stay the night. Nothing like an apocalypse to get cheap rooms at fancy hotels. Dean hopped, gracefully as he could, over the front desk to get at the keys, plucking a few first-floor keys just in case. After this, he turned left, eyes out for the bar. Rounding the corner, he found the place, pushing open the door to see Cas.

The first thing he noticed was how trashed the place was, smell of booze hanging thick in the air, and the second thing he noticed was how trashed _ Cas _was. “Are you drunk?” Dean asked, incredulous, gingerly wandering deeper into the dilapidated bar, taking care not to step on any of the glass littering the floor.

“Are you stupid?” Cas grumbled, his fingers tightening on the bottle in his grasp. He seemed to sway just where he stood in the middle of the room. Yeah, they weren’t going anywhere tonight, at least not without the risk that Cas would hurl in the Impala.

“Oh, we got comebacks now,” Dean praised, hoping Cas wasn’t too drunk to miss the sarcasm. Cas rolled his eyes, no doubt feeling rebellious. “How much did you drink?”

“This building was essentially an arsenal of iniquities,” Cas muttered, words impressively crisp. “Now, not as much.” From the way Cas was swaying and the way Dean knew from experience that angels could drink anyone under the table, Dean could believe that. Then again, Cas was barely an angel anymore, technically. Maybe he should be worried about alcohol poisoning.

“C’mon,” Dean murmured, reaching out to pull Cas along and Cas, thankfully, acquiesced, grabbing onto Dean’s jacket like a kid. It turned out that Cas was an affectionate drunk; Cas put his arms around Dean’s and just about hugged him. It was almost laughable: ex-soldier turned cuddle monster. Cas was completely hammered though, so Dean let it slide.

“You’re gonna be a mess tomorrow,” Dean promised him as they walked along to their room. Cas was a mess _ now _. He hadn’t drunk this much since he’d found out God had gone out to buy a pack of cigarettes and never came back. Dean guessed in some way the loss of his teleportation abilities was just another reminder of that. Dean didn’t blame Cas for reacting poorly, who was he to judge?

They loped inside their room, Cas sagging heavily against Dean’s body. As Dean turned around to lock the door behind them, Cas grumbled something incoherent and leaned into Dean’s collar, pressing his cheek against Dean’s jaw. Cas was some heady mix of lake water, booze, and depression but Dean couldn’t help but find the way Cas clung to him a _ little _endearing. Then he felt a whisper of warm breath against his neck.

“Dude,” he said, shoulders tensing. “Did you just _ smell _me?”

“You smell nice,” Cas replied, words a little slurred, offering an explanation if not a defense. Yeah, Dean had taken advantage of working water earlier and freshened up a bit but this was definitely a strange conversation to be having. Nothing Dean couldn’t handle though, but then Cas sighed, “Like you did before the world ended.” Dean almost asked Cas how to bottle that scent but it was too weird to talk about.

Cas was still bundled up close to Dean, not really willing to move. “You better not get this sappy every time I take a shower,” Dean muttered uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “And I’m going to call bullshit on that,” he argued lightly, guiding Cas away from the door. “I never let you get this handsy before.”

“It was different then,” Cas muttered, troubled, letting himself get pulled along. “My senses were…It doesn’t matter.” Sounded like some angel bullshit that Dean didn’t need to know about. He wouldn’t push it either way; just the thought of the way things used to be was probably already depressing enough for Cas. It was definitely depressing enough for Dean.

“C’mon Cas,” Dean grunted. “Bedtime.” He moved to disentangle himself from Cas but Cas didn’t let go, instead he pushed in closer. His hands found their way around Dean, gently gripping the back of Dean’s arms. He sighed. Then leaned his face into Dean’s neck.

Dean’s entire body was stiff as a board as Cas closed in. He couldn’t think of what to do. He felt like he should just walk away but something in the way Cas held him twisted something in his gut. He hadn’t…touched _ anyone _ like this for a longer time then he’d care to admit, and it felt…it felt _ nice _. He put his hand on Cas’s back and patted him, a little awkwardly.

Dean could feel the rise and fall of Cas’s gentle breathing against him and he let his eyes flutter shut, a wave of exhaustion really hitting him. His body reacted instinctively to the touch, or as instinctive as it got in the dark, and Cas moved nearer, fitting his body against Dean’s. Solid and lean against him; it was intimate to the point of romantic.

Dean could feel Cas’s forehead against his neck, then his cheek, then—his lips, chapped, scraping their way across his skin. That was too much, too soft, too much like a kiss. Cas’s lips were gentle, reverent, moving across the hollow of Dean’s throat and Dean couldn’t pretend it was anything but what it was.

“Cas,” he spoke up through gritted teeth, alert. And Cas stopped. His hands were still hooked on Dean’s sleeves, but he was still, no longer winding himself into Dean’s arms like he was considering spending the rest of his life there.

Dean pulled back and hazarded a glance at Cas’s face in the dim lighting of the bedroom. His eyes were opened wide, bright in the darkness. He looked…_ terrified _. Not of rejection, but of the chance that he’d trespassed some boundary. Something in Dean’s chest clenched, but he held fast.

“I’m not…_gay,” _ he explained, a practiced phrase that always hurt Dean to say, and Cas’s grip loosened entirely, enough to let go. Dean moved back a pace, just to put some air between them, running his hand across the skin of his throat, trying to ease the prickle and burn.

“I…I see,” Cas muttered, voice hoarse with that same mix of confusion and understanding that Cas always seemed to display around Dean.

Dean started taking back his sleeves, straighten himself out. “Neither are you,” he went on. “Or maybe you are, whatever. But this right here? You’re drunk. Lonely. You’re _ human _ . You don’t know what you want, but you don’t want this.” _ You don’t want me. _ He found that his voice was shaking slightly. He cleared his throat.

Cas’s gaze flickered around the room, he was thinking hard and not looking at Dean. “You could be right,” Cas allowed after a moment of thought. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” His eyes were narrow and sad with genuine regret. Dean heaved a sigh, standing up straight.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he said, feeling slightly relieved, throwing an arm around Cas’s shoulder and pulling his body against his own in a casual hug. “Consider it forgotten.” Things were hard, and Cas was drunk, and they’d both let so much slide for each other by this point that Dean knew he couldn’t give Cas hell for something as small as this.

Cas was still frozen from Dean’s order from before. He didn’t lean into Dean’s touch, just continued staring ahead in the vague direction of the floor. “C’mon man,” Dean urged, and he couldn’t stop a note of fondness from colouring his voice. “Let’s sleep it off.” Cas nodded and let Dean pull him to his bed where Cas lay, seemingly miles away from Dean.

Dean was grateful for the distance, though, pulling off his jacket and unbuckling his belt. He shucked off his jeans and slipped beneath the covers, feeling oddly conscious of his actions around Cas for the first time in a long while. When he turned out the light, he felt incredibly far away from his friend, from anyone. Like a lone star burning in an empty black sky.

Cas didn’t know what he’d been asking for. Dude just found out he’d lost yet another power. He was scared, very drunk, and Dean knew the feeling, he knew the impulse to find someone and just bury yourself in them. Cas probably hadn’t even though that far. Did angels even have sex? It didn’t matter. Dean willed his brain to quiet down, his heart still pounding, his skin still stinging.

And there was always the chance that Cas hadn’t meant anything by it. That it hadn’t been sexual or romantic, that it had just been Dean overreacting. But after spending somewhere between a few minutes and an eternity in the dizzying dark Cas spoke up. 

_ “Dean…” _ he murmured, so unexpectedly and so quietly Dean was not sure that he heard him. There was silence again for a time, in which Dean became certain that Cas’s words were some kind of auditory hallucination his brain had invented to fill the silence. Then, _ “Would it be so terrible?” _

Dean elected to set his jaw and ignore it. The ex-angel said nothing more to him that night, which was enough for Dean. The implications were troubling, but by the time the sun rose the next morning the only memento from the night before was Cas losing his lunch in the hotel toilet.

_ February 11, 2011 – Broken Bow, Nebraska _

Dean pinned it, whatever it was, down on booze and Cas didn’t argue. He didn’t talk about it at all. It wasn’t like Dean had never gotten sloppy with drink himself and, in the dark, people were pretty much the same. Nothing changed between them really, and Dean didn’t want to mark things out, but things were kind of awkward. When Dean got the chance to dump Cas off on Ellen and Jo, he took it. The two of ‘em needed a break to recharge and forget.

But things had been getting worse on the east coast. More infections, more city-wide shut downs, and Dean wasn’t any closer to getting his hands on an archangel blade. There hadn’t been a peep out of Raphael and Dean couldn’t imagine things were fairing off much better in Heaven, though at this point he didn’t know who he wanted to win up there.

After Dean took care of a quaint salt-n-burn in Wyoming but came back to Nebraska, trying the doorbell. He heard a call through the house, “It’s open!” and pressed his way inside. Jo wasn’t in the kitchen or living room, but padding his way through the house he found Jo and Cas sitting on an outdoors sofa on the back porch, smoking weed.

“Your mom know about this?” Dean nagged. Jo took another deep breath on her joint.

“No,” she said with a sigh, eyebrow quirked in a challenge. “And she’s not gonna either.” She held out the joint for Dean. Dean gestured a vague ‘no’ with his hand given that he planned on driving and Jo shrugged, breathing out slow. Cas reached over to take it in Dean’s place, taking a drag as Dean sat down next to them.

“So, what are we talking about?” he asked, kicking up his feet on the plastic table ahead of them.

“Life,” Castiel murmured. Dean rolled his eyes but took some time to observe Cas.

He’d stopped putting product in his hair, letting it fall against his forehead in wisps. His stubble was getting darker by the day and not longer after Texas he’d lost his coat. Really, it had been an inelegant reason as any for Cas to ditch it—he’d gotten it dirty one too many times and most dry cleaners didn’t exist anymore. Still, ruthlessly sentimental, Dean had stuffed it in the Impala’s trunk. Maybe Cas was ready to let go of that part of himself, but Dean wasn’t.

Cas had on a jean jacket that looked hot off a thrift store rack, loose fitting pants, a Boston marathon t-shirt. He looked like a totally different person, more like the man Dean had seen in 2014 than the person he’d met back in 2008. They had three years to go now, in either direction, but Cas was already leaning more towards the latter. He was changing and all Dean could do was watch.

“Hey, Dean, can I talk to you?” Jo asked, getting to her feet and heading inside.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said. Cas didn’t pay them much mind, just sucked on his joint and spoke to the stars. “What’s up?”

“Alright,” Jo said, setting up in the kitchen. “As fun as it is to…see a friggin’ angel get stoned in my backyard I…I don’t know Dean. I think he’s depressed.”

“Oh, you think?” Dean asked dryly. Jo punched his shoulder. “Ouch! Jesus, I thought potheads were supposed to be pacifists!”

“Dean, I think you should talk to him,” Jo said. Christ. “You know more about angels than I do _ and _ you’ve known him for longer.”

“What the hell am I supposed to say?” Dean asked, holding out his arms. “That I can fix this? That he’ll be back on the tree in time for Christmas?” Jo looked annoyed and Dean glanced nervously behind her, hoping that Cas’s angel hearing had also faded.

“Jo, if he feels like shit about the way things are going, he’s _ right _ to be,” Dean insisted, quieter. “We’ve been out here trying to find one of those blades, and we’ve found squat. We still don’t know if Michael’s even alive.” Jo frowned.

“Listen, me and mom told all our contacts to keep a look out for angel blades, we’re not done yet,” she said. “And besides, what about those rings?”

_ “That’s _ something you could talk to Cas about,” Dean said. He wanted no part in that shit.

“Dean, please,” Jo whined. “I don’t…he needs to talk to someone about this.” And it had to be Dean? Talking to Cas about their feelings was the last thing Dean wanted to do right now. Cas had kissed his feelings all over Dean’s neck, not that Jo knew that, or needed to know. Dean sighed.

“Alright, fine,” he said. “But you owe me a beer.” It was a thin threat, she was a bartender and he wasn’t going to stick around too long today to even take her up on it. She shrugged and he turned inside.

Cas didn’t need Dean’s bullshit today. He just needed a friend. “Cas, buddy,” Dean said, pacing over to him. He pulled up a seat next to Cas, who turned his face away from Dean. “Talk to me,” Dean insisted. “What’s been going on with you?” Cas just blinked. “I mean you’re…you’re jumping in lakes, you’re drinking, doing drugs, and just…I don’t know, man. You telling me everything’s fine?”

Cas looked vaguely guilty. Turned to look at Dean. “My wings are gone,” he murmured.

“Oh,” Dean said. He hadn’t really wanted to be right. He hadn’t actually expected this, for one he thought Cas had lost his wings in Texas and while he figured this sudden trend towards drugs had had something to do with Texas, he’d figured it had something to do with them…the kiss. So, on one hand, he was relieved but on the other…it was hard to know which he preferred.

“For some time now I could feel them…atrophy, as my Grace…dwindled away,” Cas went on. “And now…I can’t feel them at all.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Oh. “Wait, so that means,” Dean trailed off. Cas’s Grace. Cas tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows in a frown. And Dean realized. “You’re human.”

“I don’t know what I am,” Cas said frankly. “Fallen angels are…aberrations. To be eradicated, not studied. And nothing like this has ever happened—Anna cut out her own Grace, mine has petered out. I’m not sure what happens when an angel…becomes mortal. But, I think my wings are gone, Dean. Permanently.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could do to fix this situation, nothing he could do to help. Cas moved on, not paying attention, “It’s funny,” he said. “The last time I ever took stock of my relationship to this body…I suppose, _ my _ body…was when Raphael destroyed it. Jimmy was my vessel, but he died with this body. And yet, someone—God, remade it for me—as though I had any more right to this body than he did. In fact, I had substantially less right.”

Dean had gotten so used to this body, this frowning face, these shoulders and hands and lips, he saw Cas in them. But Cas was right…this wasn’t really him. He cleared his throat, allowing himself some curiosity, “So, you don’t have your Grace, but you’re still…_ you… _in there. Right?” Cas got what he meant.

“Once, I thought you might be able to perceive my true visage,” Cas murmured. “Instead, I injured you.” Dean cleared his throat, feeling defensive.

“Listen, I could take it,” he said. Cas smiled a little.

“It doesn’t matter. If you think of—my possessing a vessel in terms of potential energy,” he started.

“No way,” Dean said, because that sounded like it required math. Cas rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have enough energy left to leave this vessel,” he concluded, taking another drag on his joint. That made sense. “For all intents and purposes, I’ve displaced the original inhabitant of this body. I’m a parasite that killed its host and is wearing its pelt.” Jesus, that was dark.

He looked across at Dean with eyes that were red, tired, and incredibly sad. Dean shifted in his spot under Cas’s gaze. “I can’t speak for Jimmy,” Dean muttered. “But he knew what he was getting into. It was bound to happen, right?” In their line of work. Cas looked away.

“Not if I’d done better by him,” he said. “He had…a family. Wife. Child. He…believed in a holy mission. Believed in God.” Cas laughed. “I never realized what a…_ monster _ I was until now.” He smiled at Dean, raising his eyebrows. “This man gave up _ everything _ for me. And what did I do for him? I ruined him. And I killed him.”

Dean grit his teeth. “You didn’t kill him, Cas,” was all he could say. Because he couldn’t press it much further than that. If Dean couldn’t stop the devil this time just like he’d failed to do so in Zach’s vision then, hell, Jimmy’s death was sort of his fault too. And he didn’t know if he could carry that.

Dean knew that Jimmy had made his choice, just like Cas was making his. But, but if this was going to end with Dean’s neck breaking on pavement, and it was all for nothing, then sure—Cas had failed Jimmy and it was all in vain. But that wasn’t Cas’s fault, it was just a matter of backing a losing horse.

“Uh, so your Grace,” Dean mumbled, swiping at his eyes to avoid looking at Cas. “You runnin’ on empty now?” Cas nodded slowly.

“The best way to describe it,” he said thoughtfully. “Is like a limb has been stolen from me.” Dean noticed him subtly shifting his shoulders, as though he was trying to flex his unseen wings. He’d been such a showboat the night they’d met, the way he’d used his wings as proof that he was an angel. He’d overwhelmed Dean the first few times, and now Dean had shrunk him down to just a fraction of his original strength.

“Don’t let Bobby hear you say shit like that,” Dean advised gruffly. Wasn’t exactly sensitive phrasing. Cas just smiled, looking ancient.

“I’m coping with my loss just as he is,” he said. Dean snorted. That was a bit generous for Cas to say. Cas didn’t take the bait with any defense.

“That why you’re smoking and drinking?” Dean asked.

“I’m hardly more use to you sober,” Cas said. Dean wished he could argue. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas went on, voice low and brittle with something like pity. “You must blame yourself for this.” Dean’s hurt sunk into his gut.

“Yeah, well, the shoe fits,” he growled, glancing away from Cas and over at the rickety picket fence of Ellen’s backyard. Who else was there to blame? Zach had told him to say yes to Michael, he hadn’t, and now Cas was wingless, hapless and hopeless.

“This isn’t your fault,” Cas murmured. But well, Cas could tell Dean not to blame himself all he wanted but that wasn’t going to change the reality of their situation one bit. This was probably half of the reason Dean hadn’t wanted to come back out here and talk to Cas. Cas had given up a lot for Dean since they’d first met, and to continue to trust him, on matter how misplaced that faith was…it was a lot. Dean was always stuck between guilt and gratitude. Cas blew out smoke and Dean watched his lips.

Cas seemed tired. Older. Like he was shifting into the skin of the man Dean had met in the future. But, there was a kind of…attitude about him that seemed different. Not like the Cas Dean had met in 2008, but not like the guy Dean had seen in 2014 either, at least as far as Dean could tell. It made Dean feel strange, but grateful. He turned away.

And he thought, almost compulsively, about that night back in Texas, Cas’s lips on his neck. That strange sort of intimacy, the ease of it. Dean’d done good at not thinking about it, but it wasn’t exactly easy to avoid. Dean turned away from Cas’s gaze, took in a shaky breath, but Cas didn’t notice his troubles. Of course, nothing was gonna happen. As though Dean was gonna make Cas fall even more than he already had.

Dean liked sex, and Cas was obviously taking a lot of cues about how to live and act from Dean, but this? And Cas…angels were kinda junkless, right? Spiritually speaking? Dean’d had sex with Anna, but, she had been human. Cas had tried for something but like, even supposing that Dean had been interested, how could he say yes? To something Cas clearly couldn’t understand or want?

Hell, it probably wasn’t even sex Cas was after. That was probably just Dean’s fucked up mind heading to places Cas had never considered. Cas’d blushed like a virgin bride when Dean had tried to set him up, and he obviously hadn’t been interested in sex. Hell, he’d probably just wanted a fucking…cuddle, and Dean had tainted that. And if Cas wanted more now, well…it just went to show that Dean could corrupt even the best and brightest parts of his life.

Even now, Dean had come out here, somehow expecting that Cas had been thinking about Texas like Dean had. But no, it was just Dean, with his weird little messed up dirty wants and desires, his brain pinning him up with needles like an insect to a display, nothing to do with Cas. And it was different anyway, him and Cas. He didn’t want Cas, but supposing he did, supposing he’d be fine with giving Cas what he thought he wanted, well, it was kind of null, wasn’t it? He couldn’t do that.

Dean didn’t think about it a whole lot but, sure, he’d fooled around. He’d been round the block, of course was going to wind up in the same bed as another dude once or twice. But it was just that. And chicks dug it. It was always just some bullshit he’d forget about within the next twenty-four hours. Cas was a bit more memorable than that.

Cas carefully moved the joint out from between his lips, probably preserving it for whatever fresh new horror the future would bring. He methodically stubbed out the remainder of it on the ground, embers sparking on the ashtray. And Dean should’ve probably asked for it when he’d had the chance because now he couldn’t shut his mind off, heart pulsing faster than it should, given the situation.

He looked back at Cas. He’d been quiet for too long. “Are we moving on soon?” Cas asked. “I assume that’s why you came.” Dean had to say something.

“Cas,” he spoke up, and Cas caught his eye, looking solemn. “I know the angels ditched and your Grace is drained but. You still got me. Me and Bobby.” That was a stretch. “Jo and Ellen. You’re…hell, you’re the closest thing I got to family anymore.” He couldn’t call Cas a brother, considering how sore they both were around Sam but, he knew Cas recognized the significance of it.

And Cas nodded, presently. “Given the state of my siblings,” he murmured. “I feel much the same way.” And Dean didn’t know what to feel about that but that was that and it was relief enough. Their faces were close, and Dean turned back to the sky, watching the dark clouds move overhead.

“You don’t got to stick with me on this one. You might as well stay,” Dean settled on. Not let more of Dean rub off on him. Cas’s hand suddenly caught itself on Dean’s shoulder, and there was a little stoned, significant, smile on his lips.

Dean sometimes didn’t know what the fuck Cas was thinking about. Dean knew _ he _was cagey, but Cas probably didn’t even think in English, or words. Still, something in his look made Dean feel self-conscious. “What?” Dean snapped, but his voice came out soft. Cas pulled his hand away, smile broadening. And then Cas’s head drooped to his chest and he started gently snoring. Jesus. Well, that was one way of getting out of conversations.

Carefully, Dean disentangled himself, and headed indoors to tell Jo about the sleeping angel outside. Afterwards, he made himself comfortable in the Harvelle house, feeling kind of stoned himself. He kept thinking though, as the day was chased back by the night, as the sun was replaced by streetlights, even when Cas came in and crawled into a sleeping bag on the floor.

The two of them, Dean had to admit, had something even if Dean didn’t know the word for it. The closest thing he’d ever had to this was…well, his brother. Dean’d never had a lot of friends, people wound up hurt, or worse. Cas was the only one who’d ever seemed to stick, and Dean was grateful for that.

But Cas’s mouth on Dean’s throat. He’d handed Dean a whole new can of worms and a can opener to boot. Because Dean’s times with men, and there’d just been the few, hadn’t mattered. There’d been some almosts, too, now that he thought about it. That detective back in Arkansas, a bartender, a soldier on leave, here and there, never hunters. The ones where they’d look at each other and see each other were probably worse than the midnight fucks, because there had been some sort of weird potential.

Smiling in the daylight was different than sweat and skin in the dark. Shit, he hadn’t thought about all that in years. But times he had, it’d grip him, like the significance was getting stuck in his throat. And well, Dean’d swallowed down smaller shit. He was good at that. Because it didn’t mean anything. And never would.

Cas though. Dean hated to admit it, but Cas was starting to mean something to him. Cas was…ridiculous. A dumbass, a child, but he got Dean. Would die for him, and that was a promise Dean was setting out to fulfill. And that made Dean feel…all sorts of things that he didn’t know what to do with, that he’d never known what do to with. And, even if they were both pretending he hadn’t, he’d _ kissed _Dean.

Dean got the feeling that the whole situation was like putting a lid on a pot of water. How, when you couldn’t see the boiling, and provided you could ignore the sound, it wasn’t something you’d have to think about right up till it boiled over. But, what then? What was Dean supposed to do when he looked at someone and was stuck between _ wanting _ him and just…wanting _ him? _ Because Dean couldn’t have both.

And he knew, deep down somewhere. That this was probably turning into something. Him and Cas. Cas had rejected the thought of being even remotely like Sam, but clearly that was why Dean gave a shit, right? Because if it was anything else, something for the dark, Cas couldn’t stick around. Dean wouldn’t do that to him, to them. So here they were, Dean on the couch sweating beneath his blanket, and Cas snoring on the floor at his feet. Something like brothers.

_ February 25, 2011 – Boston, Massachusetts _

Dean kind of understood what Cas’d been going through when he’d been hunting God. That’s what it was like trying to find Gabriel or Raphael. Raphael was up in Heaven, but trying to find Gabriel in the world was about as effective as finding a rich man in a haystack. Dean was getting more nightmares lately. Sometimes he’d dream about Hell. But in all honesty, the dreams where Michael would taunt Dean were just as shit.

Eventually, him and Cas had picked up hunting again, especially concerning the virus. And found themselves on the precipice of Boston. The streets were empty, and Dean knew what empty cities meant by now. Things were getting worse all over, but especially out east, like a shockwave rippling out from where his brothers had said yes.

Dean had kind of rationalized the massacre in Eau Claire because it was true that enough people had gotten infected fast enough that, Dean and Cas excluded, burning the place to the ground was the best way to stomp out the disease. And it had worked, so that was another mark in the pros column. But, then the power went out in Massachusetts.

They’d headed east to check out the place, following a sudden blackout in communication between Ellen and a hunter who lived out there, and the first thing that had become obvious to Dean and Cas was the military presence. It was, essentially, a police state and Dean and Cas had to park Baby and sneak past a blockade on foot. Stupid move but they had to see.

The consolation was that there weren’t infected folks anywhere but in hospitals. And in Boston in particular, Dean and Cas found that the US army had gunned its way through, leaving behind no infected, but in addition to that no one at all. Dean couldn’t pick apart the people from the Croats, and probably had that in common with the ones who’d rolled away alive. It was a goddamn massacre and Dean was right in the middle of it. Like the red at the center of a bullseye, all signs of blame pointing to him. They drove out of Boston and broke into some abandoned motel for the night. And, eventually, Dean had lit out on his own.

He was drunk. He was trying hard not to fall into it, honestly he was. He didn’t want to go the way his dad would go, drink and drink until the man eroded and all that was left was the alcohol, the anger. But he figured, last night on Earth, might as well drink to that. But now that he was here, he saw there was no sense in making a big decision when you were trashed. Dean had driven out here drunk, oh if only there’d been a bastard cop left alive to pull him over, but he could wait now. He had to.

He’d done this before. Contemplated suicide that wasn’t suicide. The noble sacrifice. He knew that shit lead to nothing but pain. Which was maybe what Dean deserved. He didn’t trust Michael; he’d seen what archangels did to their rides. But this wasn’t even about that. The kicker about Hell wasn’t—wasn’t what had been done to Dean while he’d been down there.

He wasn’t okay, hadn’t been okay. Still had nightmares about Alastair some nights, every night. But the things Dean had done to others, yeah, even if they were bad people who hadn’t put their hand up and volunteered to end up in the Bad Place, even then. What Dean had done to them—that was the kind of shit you couldn’t scrub off your soul. The righteous man. What a joke.

If Michael was going to fuck Dean up, fine, Dean was selfish so he’d fought it off this long, but fine. All things considered, Dean didn’t matter, hadn’t mattered, and it was time to get on his knees and face that. But—on the off-chance Michael was going to—use him, the way Lucifer was using Sam, and the off-chance that…that Cas _ right _, that Michael was just another Lucifer out to destroy the world, then Dean was going to give him the reigns.

That was why Dean had driven off. Middle of the night, Cas had claimed the bed. Said he hadn’t needed to sleep, but sleep he had, pinning Dean to the motel room’s dainty little table. And Dean was left with his thoughts, thinking about Boston and a bottle of whisky. So he’d grabbed his keys and driven out there alone, without stirring Cas at all.

The world was already good as dead. And Dean was involved inextricably with that fact. Either way. He hadn’t asked for it, but it was his fault all the same. Might as well face the music, even if he didn’t like the song. When he felt as sober as he was gonna be, he gave it a shot.

He recited the spell Cas had performed, and even while drunk the fact that Cas had done it twice in front of him made Dean confident he wouldn’t miss a word. He lit the match, and waited. Even put his hands together for it.

“I’m, uh—willing to talk,” Dean murmured. That got him a fat lot of nothing as a response. “Michael?” he tried, calling out into the universe.

He’d never really prayed before. Not the way you were supposed to; phoning Cas didn’t count. Sam was the devout brother. Reading the Gideon’s Bible in their hotel bedrooms growing up, a constant, sneaking out rebelliously to go to church and confession. That wasn’t Dean, never had been. But he was gonna have to learn on the fly.

Dean pressed his palms harder together, as though the weight of it could boost his prayer. “I’m ready. To be your Sword. To stop Lucifer.” The formality of it, he hoped, would make it clearer what Dean was saying yes to, that he was saying yes. “You can hop in me, if you need a ride,” Dean said, laughing almost. “You have my consent. Or whatever.”

And still nothing. Dean let out a little choked scoff. Michael was really ignoring him? Out of spite? Or was it, was it too late to do anything? The words splintered. “God damnit, _ please.” _ Nothing. Dean grit his teeth. “I’m tapping out! Fucking take me!” And Dean’s voice echoed through the empty street until there was nothing. Silence. The same old quiet of death as Dean’s heart rate dropped and the blood in his ears calmed down. He hung his head. Too fucking late.

“You pray too loudly,” Cas spoke up from behind him, voice deep and cold as winter waters. Dean whipped around and before he had the chance to properly understand what it meant that Cas was here, or how he’d come, Cas had landed a solid punch on Dean’s face.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean yelled, but he didn’t feel the pain blooming beneath his skin for long as adrenaline took over. Because he caught sight of Cas’s face and knew he wasn’t playing around, he was aiming to kick Dean’s ass.

“Is this what I fell for?” Cas hissed, enraged, chasing Dean down the street, Dean on the defensive because he didn’t want to _ fight _ Cas. The night they’d first met, Dean had been terrified of Cas’s power. But he’d never seen him this angry. God’s fucking wrath personified, even if he didn’t have Heaven in his corner anymore. “So that you could surrender?”

“Cas!” Dean gasped. He needed to explain, but Cas was on him, blows upon blows, knocking Dean into the bricks behind them. “Please!” But Dean found it was manageable, because Cas was weak. Cas’s lack of power served to stoke his anger and frustration, but Dean was still able to fight back.

_ “Cas!” _ he yelled, blocking Cas’s fists and grabbing at his arms, shoving him against the wall of the nearby building to pin him still.

“I gave up _ everything _ for you,” Cas went on, sounding shattered. His hands were on Dean’s collar and his eyes were bright with fury and anguish. “And _ this _ is what you give to me?” And Dean could understand why he was pissed; he’d stood with humanity as the angels trickled off one by one and now Dean had changed his mind, decided to stand there, begging for Michael to take him.

“It didn’t work, did it?” Dean shouted back. That got Cas to stop. To Dean’s horror, he’d started to tear up. He let go of Cas, turning his face away so that Cas wouldn’t see. The fight seemed to sap out of the angel’s body and Dean, with nothing else to do, sank to his knees in front of Cas, feeling totally gutted.

Michael hadn’t answered Dean’s prayers, but Cas had. If Cas had been able to hear him, it stood to reason that there was _ no way _ Michael hadn’t. So, either Michael was dead or just completely disillusioned with humanity, with Dean, perhaps spitefully ignoring Dean the way Dean had ignored him back when he’d had a chance. It didn’t matter, the Devil had won. No point in pushing this any further. Dean had already lost.

“Dean,” Cas spoke up regretfully.

“I screwed up, Cas,” Dean said, tears making his voice muddy. “I know.” He put his head in his hands. In 2014, he’d told himself to say yes to Michael, said that Michael wouldn’t respond later down the road. Well, the train had left the station now too. There was no way out of this anymore. No way out of any of it.

“We need to leave,” Cas said in a low voice, rough but not uncaring, kneeling down as though he was speaking to a child. “Someone might have heard us.” His gaze was shifty, guilty.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, feeling numb. He couldn’t bear to remind Cas that they were the only souls alive in this godforsaken city, but he couldn’t find it in himself to move.

Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, but the usual warmth didn’t come. There was something vague, like a quiet current of electricity running under Dean’s skin, but even Dean knew that wasn’t enough. “I’m sorry, I,” Castiel murmured, sounding horrified. “I can’t heal you. I…forgot.” Cas was more ripped up about it than Dean was, looking at Dean with his sad, sad eyes.

He’d had juice enough left apparently to hear Dean’s mistakes and zap himself out here. Not enough left over for this. It was a strange sort of irony; Cas wasn’t angel enough to hurt Dean and wasn’t angel enough to heal him. Dean’s face was still aching from where Cas had hit him. He could feel wet on his lips, couldn’t quite tell if it was blood or tears, probably a mix of both. He wiped his face with his palm. He was pathetic. In a weird way, the pain felt fine. It was Cas’s gentle, repentant hands, helping Dean to his feet, that bothered him.

Dean was clearly too messed up to drive, so Cas helped him into the passenger’s seat and slid into the driver’s. He patiently waited for Dean to buckle himself in before starting the car. Dean’d helped Cas preview his skills on a couple of cars, but this was the first time he’d let him touch the Impala. Whether or not Cas could navigate it without crashing was…well, Dean could barely bring himself to care now either way.

Cas pulled onto the road, a little clumsily, obviously trying to drive as smoothly as he could from the way he kept glancing at Dean whenever they hit a bump. His hands on the wheel were bloody but mild, as though he were trying to make up for the violence he’d visited on Dean in the way he treated the vehicle. Dean turned his attention out the window, willing himself to not cry. He didn’t deserve to feel bad about himself.

“How’d you get out here?” Dean asked, trying not to sound choked

“I drove,” Castiel admitted, drumming his hand across the wheel, some nervous habit he was apparently developing. “I stole a car and followed you.” Oh. Dean would’ve almost been impressed with the resourcefulness, except that he’d thought he’d been so slick, personally. But he caught on an idea.

“So, you didn’t,” Dean said, because it’d seemed to him that Cas had heard his prayers and zapped himself to give Dean a piece of his mind. “Couldn’t hear me—”

“No,” Cas said simply. “I heard your prayers, Dean. I can still hear the Heavenly frequency, as Anna could when she was human. It’s just that no one uses it anymore.” Right, because they were all…dead. Cas concluded, “That’s how I found you.” And with that all hope died.

They’d been driving in silence for what might’ve been a half hour when Cas decided to speak up again. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, voice laden with guilt. For the fight, for not being able to heal Dean, for the whole shitty situation, most likely.

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered, leaning back into his seat and shutting his eyes, rewarding himself with a faint flash of pain from where Cas had thrown him against bricks. “So am I.”


	12. June 2011

_ June 1, 2011 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota _

Something had changed about the way Cas looked at Dean after Dean had almost said yes to Michael. Their fight had been ugly, and hell, Dean got it. Cas had given up everything to be here on the promise that Dean would do his best to stop Lucifer. And Dean had gone back on his promise. Or at least tried to. Driving sober now, Dean had no idea what he was thinking. He could see it for the weakness that it had been.

If Michael wanted to destroy the world to make a heaven on Earth, what was the guarantee that it would be anything like a heaven? The angels were all dicks, present company included, and Dean had just tried to opt out of any sort of responsibility in their holy war. Didn’t matter of course, Dean was destined to be part of this mess and he’d just have to see if he could drag humanity out of it. He just wished he’d held off a little longer before crumbling, because he was having troubles with the humiliation of it.

Dean had run back to Bobby, tail between his legs, and Cas had followed him with nowhere else to go. Waking up the next morning, Dean had been confronted with unnaturally dark red skies. Wandering over to the window, Dean pried it open, then closed it when it turned out the air outside smelled off.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice level. “Why does the sky look like hell?”

“Sunlight scattering off of soot,” Cas replied, seated comfortably at the table in the kitchen. “And nitrogen dioxide.” He didn’t look at Dean. “According to the radio, there are forest fires in Canada.”

“In _ Canada?” _ Dean asked, making sure Cas had said what he’d said. _ “Canada?” _

“It’s the end of the world,” Cas replied softly. Dean glanced up at the sky again. Dark, reddish, and the air smelled sick. Zachariah had promised fiery skies. Bobby wheeled himself over.

“Get breakfast started,” he grouched. “I’m not gonna wait on you hand and foot given I only have the hands.” Dean grunted, standing upright and making himself useful. He still felt bad about dumping himself onto Bobby after… well…everything.

“Did you at least get coffee going?” he asked.

“Black as mud,” Bobby confirmed, indicating his head towards the pot. Dean nodded and walked over, pouring himself a mug.

“Got any cream?” Dean asked.

“What am I, Starbucks?” It was too early in the morning for this. Dean took a sip and the bitterness was enough to wake him up.

“You want anything, Cas?” Dean asked, popping some toast in the toaster and sneaking around in Bobby’s fridge, lower shelf stocked. He was fixing to make some egg sandwiches.

“I’m not hungry,” Cas lied. Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed the entire carton and set it out on the counter.

“Heard about what happened in Massachusetts,” Bobby said. Dean glanced over at Cas, and saw his jaw clench, but a look back at Bobby suggested that Castiel hadn’t mentioned Dean’s lapse. Dean fucked up so often maybe Cas figured it wasn’t worth mentioning. “Damn ugly business.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, greasing the pan. “What are they calling it?” Bobby laughed.

“Terrorist attack. The National Guard just combed through the city for survivors. Course, there weren’t any.” No, there were not. “Of course, now they’re sayin’ a bioweapon was involved.” That was a little different.

“Jesus,” Dean sighed, running his hand through his hair. “How the hell do they manage to spin that shit?”

“It’s the United States Government,” Bobby shrugged. “It’s what they’ve been doing since day one. But, no survivors means no Croats.”

“Yeah, for now,” Dean said, not liking the way Bobby slid so easily into the lingo without having to be told. Bobby let out some grunt of agreement, grumbling to himself. Dean cracked two eggs into the pan, and reached over to pull another gulp of coffee.

“Dean, I’ve been thinkin’,” Bobby said.

“Sound the alarm,” Dean grunted.

“Oh, shuddup,” Bobby scowled, rolling closer to Dean. He spoke reluctantly, guarded, “I’ve been thinkin’ about that Camp you mentioned you saw in 2014.”

“Camp Chitaqua?” Dean asked, moving the eggs over in the pan to get them to fry evenly, trying not to focus too much on what Bobby was saying.

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “I’ve been thinkin’, maybe we should start looking into it.” Dean let the eggs hiss.

“You’re sayin’ we shift gears from running away from destiny to driving straight towards it,” he realized.

“I’m sayin’ that if there was any grain of truth to what you saw, the place _ lasted _ three years,” Bobby said. “Which might be longer than we get anywhere else. You said everywhere else was toast or military-run.”

“Bobby you know you weren’t around in the future I saw,” Dean said. “Now, we don’t know if it’s going to come true but—”

“Listen, idjit, I can damn well take care of myself,” Bobby blustered, eyes burning cold. “You mind your own business and I’ll mind mine.” He added, for good measure, “Dumbass.” Dean didn’t know whether he should laugh or throw a fist.

“I don’t _ want _ that future, Bobby,” Dean said firmly. “There’s gotta be some work around. There’s no reason we need to, last time I was chasing a weapon that was never gonna work. But me ‘n’ Cas are working on the archangel blades and once we got them we’re gonna stick Lucifer with so many holes we’ll be able to use him as a spaghetti strainer.”

“Fine, _be_ an idjit,” Bobby grumped. “But the fact that you’re after the blades and not the Colt should already be a big enough difference that you stayin’ there instead of my dingy house won’t matter in the scheme of things.” Dean’s mouth went dry, taking the eggs of the heat, browned and steaming but not burnt.

“If you want me out, Bobby, just tell me,” he said.

“You know that ain’t why,” Bobby said, sounding offended. “Who else is gonna make me breakfast?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Just think about it, is all.” And it wasn’t that Bobby didn’t have a point. Especially considering how vulnerable Bobby was out here.

Bobby’d been mobilizing with the sheriff, building some sort of contingency plan ever since Sioux Falls had a demon attack, but that didn’t change the fact that Bobby could only do so much against a horde of zombies.

And that was the way Bobby was set to go, even if Bobby didn’t want to hear about it. Dean had found Bobby’s chair flipped over in this very house. Maybe getting him out of here, to Camp Chitaqua or anywhere else, was the best thing Dean could do for him. Bobby cleared his throat to change the topic. “Meanwhile, how’s that hunt been going?”

Dean took in a breath. He really didn’t wanna have to tell Bobby how hard he’d crashed. Because he was gonna keep trucking and there was no sense in worrying Bobby over something that was being taken care of. He’d tell him eventually probably but he just…he couldn’t right now.

“Shitty,” he said honestly. “Gabriel and Michael are AWOL, and Raphael’s still up in Heaven. Cas thinks they’re all still alive, or at least were before he lost the rest of his juice. Just…can’t find them.” Cas shifted in the corner of Dean’s eye at the mention of his name.

“Might be the Men of Letters know something about summoning them,” Bobby suggested. Dean was skeptical. Still, he slid over Bobby’s plate and took a bite of his own sandwich.

“Sure you don’t want anything, Cas?” he asked. Cas was staring at his food pretty hard, transfixed. He looked up guiltily like Dean had caught him checking out his ass. Then he stepped forward, replacing Dean at the stove, face tense with uncertainty. Bobby raised an eyebrow.

Cas took an egg from the carton and stubbornly tried cracking it in the pan the way Dean had, shards of shell landing inside. Cas frowned, dissatisfied. “Hey, look, that’s your brain on drugs,” Dean joked, patting his back. But he got that Cas was trying to learn how to live, so he put more toast in the toaster for him.

_ June 16, 2011 – Broken Bow, Nebraska _

Cas had spent some time at Jo and Ellen’s, Bobby sick of his moping and Cas sick of Dean. It was getting harder to travel between states. A few states had started treating statelines like borders, though there was still passage between South Dakota and Nebraska. Dean had tried busting a few ghosts over in Iowa, but they’d actually been hoaxes so he turned tail back to Nebraska.

Cas looked even more dishevelled than normal, wearing what must’ve been a customized shirt at one point as it said “Mom’s Favourite College Student” in printed bubbly letters. Didn’t exactly look like a man’s shirt, given how tight it was over Cas’s shoulders and how much belly it showed off but. Whatever. Dean was no fashionista.

“You ready?” Dean asked.

“Not particularly,” Castiel replied. He was blunt, and clearly trying to say something, but Dean didn’t have the time for that.

“Well, get ready,” Dean said, intent on ignoring Cas’s new crises. Cas let out a sigh and tugged at his clothes.

“I need a new shirt,” he complained.

“What happened to your old one?” Dean asked, looking Cas over. Cas grimaced.

“It…was torn,” he said, scrubbing his jaw with his free hand. Things started to click for Dean.

“Did you and Jo—” Dean asked, horror mounting.

“What? No!” Cas barked, then winced at his own voice. He ran his hands through his mussed hair. “Her friend…” he dragged his hands across his face, shutting his eyes. “I can’t remember her name. I am…hungover. It’ll come to me.” He seemed vaguely guilty about that; Dean just grinned, impressed that Cas had gotten laid all by himself and relieved that that weird night back in Texas was behind them.

“Cas, you dog,” he said, nudging Cas’s shoulder. Cas seemed to grimace at Dean’s volume, so Dean tried quieting down. “Alright, late bloomer,” he said, gesturing. “Got your cherry popped. How was it?” Cas grimaced.

“Repetitive,” he tried after a moment of contemplation. “Moist.” Dean actually chortled.

“Wow, Cas,” he said. “Don’t spare the details.” Cas didn’t spare details, just frowned, troubled and hungover. He clearly didn’t feel like talking about it, probably Dean had managed to ruffle his pious feathers.

“Dean I’ve been thinking,” Cas said. That didn’t sound good.

“Then she didn’t do it right,” Dean declared, not ready to switch topics. Cas was not receptive.

“About why Michael hasn’t responded to you,” Cas concluded. “Why none of the archangels have responded to my prayers.” Dean let out a sigh.

“Sure you wanna talk about this?” he asked. They hadn’t talked about it since it’d happened, and Dean wasn’t racing to change that. “Sounds like you could use an Advil and some greasy eggs.” Cas went waxy at the prospect but pushed on.

“It’s difficult to get into contact with an archangel unless they are already seeking you out,” he said. Even when Dean had been ready to bend the knee, at least as far as anyone else was concerned, he’d had to go through Zachariah and not Michael directly.

“Yeah, I’d just figured…” Dean said, feeling a little ashamed. “Since I was Michael’s vessel, and since I was doing that spell…”

“It might have worked,” Cas agreed. “If only because those standing between an archangel and someone praying to him diminish in number each day.” So…Michael might have just been ignoring Dean. Kind of petty, in Dean’s opinion.

“So what, we try, try again?” Dean asked.

_ “No,” _ Cas snapped with no hesitation. Obviously, it was still a touchy subject. But who else was there but Dean? It’s not like they’d had the forethought to store Donnie away for future use. It wasn’t like Donnie deserved that either, to be used like that. Still, Dean had to ask.

“Then, what, drive up to Donnie again?”

“By now, Donnie is very likely dead along with the rest of the entire eastern seaboard,” Cas said. Dean couldn’t believe it. It had barely been four months since they’d dropped Donnie off. But it was true that eastern states had been hit harder by the apocalypse than anyone, especially now with the virus starting to sink in its roots and spread.

A little more calmly, Cas went on, “While Gabriel took many forms throughout history, he only ever employed one vessel and never had children. Human children, at any rate. But, we know of another vessel we can use to contact Raphael directly in Heaven.”

That was something, but, “Is that…” Dean said. “Is that fair to that vessel?” To drag them into the life of archangels and apocalypses when they could have just as easily left them alone, when Donnie was probably dead and especially when Dean was right here.

“We can also wait for the rest of my brothers and sisters to die,” Cas said. “So that there would be no barrier between you and Raphael, or any archangel for that matter, so that they have no choice but to respond.” This was clearly a ‘break an egg to make an omelette’ situation and of the two of them Dean was the only one who knew how to cook.

“Alright,” Dean said. “Where is this person?”

“Lanette Finnerman, Donnie Finnerman’s sister. Anna spotted her when she was passing through Missouri,” Cas frowned. “And one of Jo’s witch friends confirmed her position.”

“Hang on, back up,” Dean said. “Anna’s _ alive?” _ After that shitstorm in Van Nuys Dean had thought she was dead, or at least tied up in Heaven somewhere. Cas’s mouth punched itself into a little frown.

_ “Yes,” _ he grumped, like he was annoyed that Dean wasn’t plugged into Anna’s whereabouts. He also wasn’t exactly willing to elaborate. But he had a hangover so Dean had to forgive him.

“You want me to be your chauffeur?” Dean asked.

“Jo taught to me to drive,” Cas reminded him, sliding his douchebag sunglasses further along the bridge of his nose. Jo. Of course she had. Bobby had probably forged a licence for him too, not that he really needed it anymore. Dean felt very conspired against. Clearly he’d missed out on a lot being in the doghouse. Cas squinted over at Dean. “I have my own car, now,” he offered, almost prissy.

Dean had seen it outside, some shitty car Bobby could bear to spare, most likely. “Yeah, was wondering when the owner of the 1978 pimpmobile would come to the parking lot,” he confessed. Cas’s gaze narrowed into an unpleasant glare but Dean found himself luxuriating beneath it.

“So that’s the plan, huh?” Dean asked.

“If you have a better idea you can take it up with Anna,” Cas said grouchily.

“She in there?” Dean asked softly. Cas just gave a shrug in response, wincing at the movement.

“Listen, forget the car, Cas, we can pick it up later,” Dean concluded, resolutely deciding that they absolutely fucking wouldn’t. Cas nodded, stilted and sore. “I’m gonna head in and we’ll talk about this later. You—you get your shit together, okay?”

Cas’s dirty look was bloodshot but he gave in. Taking pity, Dean decided he’d keep the volume down and let Cas sleep off the previous night in the passenger’s seat when they left Nebraska. But first he had to see a girl about a vessel.

“Hey Anna,” Dean greeted when he saw her. She smiled and moved through the doorway, tentatively reaching out to hug him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured into her shoulder. “About everything.” Oh, fuck they were _ not _gonna talk about that.

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed it off, smiling weakly. “It’s, uh—good to see you. You had me worried.” He wasn’t sure where they stood. It’d been hard to trust Anna ever since she’d tried to kill Sam and then his parents but, maybe it was just time and distance, he kind of understood her perspective now. Plus, she’d been the one that’d had the foresight to pull this plan together.

“Did Cas tell you about Raphael’s vessel?” she asked, taking a step back to look up at him. So, there they stood.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Sounds good to me. Although…” he cleared his throat. “Can’t help feeling like. We got a vessel right here.” He jabbed a thumb at his center. “And we, uh…already screwed over Donnie, if we’re needing to chase down his sister. I feel like…we could save on gas money if we just use what we got.” He met her gaze.

“You know, this isn’t just your responsibility, Dean,” Anna said softly, conversationally. Dean glanced away again. “Cas has the ingredients necessary to track Lanette down, once you’re in Missouri. I can head up to South Dakota, grab the rest of what we need from Bobby to actually contact Raphael.” Dean nodded, throat tight.

He consoled himself with the thought that at least he could talk to her about this. Him and Cas hadn’t really been able to pry informed consent out of Donnie by the time Raphael was through with him.

“You know,” Dean said. “Maybe I talk to her and it turns out I’m the one that needs to be Archangel bait, and she’s the one to gank Lucifer.” He could only wish. “But uh,” he coughed. “No need to rush, if you’re heading up to Bobby’s. It’d be good if Bobby had an angel in his corner.”

“Me and Cas aren’t much use,” Anna said. “We have our Blades, for now. That’s it.” Dean nodded.

“Still I wouldn’t mind if Bobby had an ex-angel in his corner,” he said. It would almost be nice if Anna could come down to Missouri with him, if that’s where Lanette was headed. “You could…Cas could go to Bobby’s.” He kind of missed her, though he still wasn’t confident he could trust her. Anna smiled a little.

“You’re worried about him,” Anna said, settling back on her heels, looking thoughtful. He wasn’t sure if she meant Cas or Bobby.

“I’m worried about a lot of things,” Dean settled on.

“Yeah, I got that,” Anna said, sounding a little amused. But she had this way about her that never made him feel defensive. She leaned up and pressed a firm kiss to the hollow of his cheek and promised to see him again soon.

_ June 17, 2011 – Philipsburg, Kansas _

The further east Dean travelled, the worse the shape people were in. You couldn’t say that the east coast was abandoned, it wasn’t—not entirely, but with the proximity to places that had been, people had started packing up. In huge mobs, actually. People were getting an understanding that what they were dealing with was a deadly virus, but that didn’t dissuade them from travelling in close contact with thousands of other people. But then, they didn’t really have a choice.

And Dean and Cas had no choice but to travel countercurrent, where even in Nebraska it had started to be an issue. They had nabbed a couple room in what once had been a four-star hotel but nowadays the service was nonexistent. Cas was passed out on a king-sized mattress in one of the adjacent rooms while Dean had claimed the presidential suite. He’d tried to enjoy it, but the grandness just succeeded in making him feel alone—like a buoy bobbing forgotten in the middle of an ocean.

Despite the sweet digs, Dean had had trouble sleeping and had spent the night just drifting in and out of the dark. Morning came as a relief, purple-blue tones flooding in through the elegant skylight above his head as the sun rose. Still closer to dawn than morning, Dean wrapped one of the white silk sheets he’d liberated from a supply closet the night before around his waist and headed to the bathroom.

He looked like Hell microwaved with the plastic wrap on. He was overdue for a T shot, back in South Dakota, and it left him stretched thin and antsy. It was hard for him to say how much of it was physical and how much of it was psychological but when no one else would fuck with him, his mind was always an eager volunteer.

He ran a hand across his unshaven jaw, eying himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted but other than that…pretty okay. Sam had been taller than Dean, physically larger than him, but Dean wasn’t under any sort of impression that he hadn’t won the genetic lottery. In every way but the way that mattered.

He was 6’1”, broad, and fit. It wasn’t that people looked at Dean and thought ‘woman’ if they clocked him. He was mostly stealth, but sometimes they knew. They knew something else was up. There were some things about Dean, things he knew made him attractive but feared made him look inherently…off. His soft mouth, his pretty eyelashes, the way he could carry himself sometimes if he wasn’t paying attention.

A lot of his features were still feminine, delicate, and if people paid too much mind they’d pick up on them. Maybe they’d think he was gay somehow, able to recognize that he wasn’t the right kind of man but not having precise language for it. The fact that anyone could look at Dean and think anything at all, that was enough for Dean to feel like trash. Still, not like it mattered anymore.

Dean popped open the medicine cabinet and sure enough there was a disposable razor and complimentary shaving cream—what luxury. He lathered up his skin and started dragging the razor across his flesh. While he felt baby-faced freshly shaved, he didn’t like a beard. And even at this slump between shots, he rationally knew how he looked. There were just some things he wouldn’t press. Sam had fucked around with his hair all he wanted to, but the less time Dean spent looking in the mirror the better.

“Shaving?” a voice spoke up from behind Dean.

“Jesus Cas, knock first,” Dean blustered. “I could’ve been—_ knock _, man.” He turned on the tap to wash the rest of the shaving cream from his face.

“My apologies,” Castiel said, putting his hands up, sounding more sleepy than sincere. He yawned, and eyed Dean’s razor. “I’ve been meaning to start.”

“It ain’t rocket science,” Dean said, shifting defensively away from Cas.

“If it were, I’d be fine,” Castiel replied, slinking further into the bathroom to stand next to Dean and look into the mirror. “I’m _ good _ at rocket science.” It was a large room, but Dean was essentially naked beneath his makeshift robe. Cas seemed totally unbothered, and he carried with him the pungent smell of weed.

“Dude, are you already high?” Dean asked.

“I believe the phrase is ‘wake and bake’,” Cas said, squinting. Dean couldn’t believe that Cas still had enough weed to ration. Dean had half a mind to smoke the rest of it to sober Cas up, especially given that Cas couldn’t apparently make it through the morning without. And a high Cas had very little respect for decency, either.

“You mind, Cas?” Dean reminded him. As an angel, dude didn’t get the concept of personal space but loved the concept of opting out mid-conversation. Some habits stuck, some didn’t. Cas threw his hands up again, lethargic and totally sarcastic.

“My bathroom is locked,” he complained. “And nowadays I actually have to _ use _ the bathroom. I assure you Dean, I mind.” Dean rolled his eyes. He dug through the cabinet and pulled out another razor. He placed it on the sink counter next to the shaving cream, which he tapped lightly with a finger in order to indicate it to Cas.

“You can do the math,” he said, hiking up his sheets trying to scramble onto some semblance of dignity, as he left the bathroom.

He knew—logically—that Cas had seen him naked before, though he didn’t like to think about it. But still—he didn’t really like being naked other then when it was pretty much necessary, and even then, he could leave it. Cas clearly didn’t give a shit either way but…it still felt weird.

Dean headed over to his clothes, lying on a pile on the dresser. With Cas in the bathroom becoming the next Sweeney Todd, Dean redressed slow, methodical. The hotel barely had enough water in the pipes for him to shave, much less clean his clothes, so Dean had to crawl back into his t-shirt and pants from the day before, the week before, still grimy with blood.

They’d have to raid a store sometime today because Dean was getting sick of wearing the same shit. They needed to get the fuck out of Kansas for one. Probably they should reconnect with Bobby, or else Ellen and Jo. Hunters and weirdo survivalists, though there was some overlap between the two groups, were the only ones who had back up generators and reliable hot water and that’s all Dean could really think about right now.

But still, there was some hope to track down Raphael’s vessel, and while the dead ends were making Dean more and more tired, they still had some miles to go before he’d give up. They just had to make it to Missouri, try to find her, convince her to page Raphael, and give it another go.

Cas cleared his throat and Dean turned around. “When I was an angel,” Castiel murmured, leaning against the doorway. Dean scanned his jaw. Didn’t look like he’d nicked himself. It was a safety razor, but it _ was _Cas. “I used to be able to control my hair growth. Even my sweat.” Dean pulled a face at the TMI, but Cas went on. “Now I’m just…filthy all the time,” he muttered. He ran a hand across his jaw. “This helped, somewhat.” Dean nodded.

“There’s some aftershave left kicking around,” he said, like he was offering some. He got a closer look at Cas’s face. There was a strip of hair Cas’d missed, a patch resting beneath his jawbone. Cas caught Dean staring. Dean shrugged a little sheepishly and said, “Uh, you just, missed some—” and gestured at the spot on his own jaw.

Cas’s hand mirrored Dean’s and felt his face. “I’m not very good at this,” he murmured when he found the spot. He seemed half-amused and half-depressed. Dean ambled over to Cas, feeling the need to cheer him up.

“Well, you didn’t cut yourself,” Dean said, like he was surveying Cas. “Still got your nose and ears.” He gestured at them with his hands. “Believe it or not, some people screw that step up.” Castiel was chewing on a smile.

“Oh?” he asked. “Like who?”

“Pfft,” Dean scoffed. “Tons of people. Van Gogh…” he trailed off, not able to come up with anyone else. And even then, he knew shit-all about art history. Cas was amenable though.

“The reasons behind him severing his ear are debated,” he agreed, closing his eyes like he was really paying attention to what Dean was saying. “But this is certainly a fascinating new theory.” Nothing could best the trademark Winchester charm. Dean was a little bit forgiven.

“You know me,” Dean grinned. “Always gotta go against the narrative.”

“I’ve noticed,” Castiel murmured, opening his eyes just a crack to look at Dean. Dean could put money down that Cas was starting to sound a little sweet on him. Dean thought Cas had gotten over that, given that Cas had finally started having sex. Dean had expected the novelty had worn off.

“Shave your peach fuzz and I’ll get the car started,” he instructed gruffly. Cas heaved out a sigh, and headed back to the bathroom, scrubbing his jaw with one hand. Dean smirked to himself. Not everything had to be so damn catastrophic.The guy Dean had seen in 2014 had disturbed Dean, he’d barely been able to recognize Cas in him. Cas now just look different, smoked a little more, but was still Cas.

It was kind of tough though, in its own way. The years Dean had spent hunting alone, without Sam, and barely with Dad, had been brutal. Empty and depressing as hell, even if he liked to put on a good show driving around the country, blaring 70s rock, and sleeping with as many women as he could. That specific kind of loneliness he’d felt had sort of underpinned everything else he’d done, even his hunts.

Dean didn’t know if he was built to be alone. He knew for sure as hell his dad wasn’t. Losing Mary had broken him into little bits and pieces and sure he’d glued himself back together but once something was damaged like that, Dean knew from experience, it was always going to be just a little bit warped.

Point was, Dean was relieved to have Cas in his corner. Even if he was a shithead that was finding some way of being addicted to a nonaddictive plant. If Cas needed some pep, Dean couldn’t begrudge him that. Whatever kept Cas walking.

_ June 19, 2011 – Lebanon, Kansas _

Folks had by and large relocated. Dean and Cas ran out of gas not far into Kansas and had to walk their way into a trap. There was a hospital which looked inhabited, intimidating, but they didn’t have a lot of choice. Stupidly figuring two was better than one, which might’ve worked when Dean was working with Sam, Cas and Dean came together and the red carpet was really rolled out for the two of them.

“Put your hands where we can see ‘em,” a voice barked and Dean finally realized that this was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

“Listen, we’re just passing through. We need gas for our vehicle, we can pay,” Dean said. He had a couple thousand still trapped in the boot of the Impala that was probably enough to cover any fees.

“Think your money means shit?” the same voice asked. “The world’s _ over _.” Dean internally smacked himself.

“Fair,” he called over, wincing.

“Step up to the gate,” another voice said. _ “Slowly. _ You charge, we shoot.” Fuck, fuck, _ fuck; _ another dumb decision for Dean to add to his dumb fucking decision collection. But, screw it, they needed the gas so there was no way around it.

Dean and Cas slowly made their way to the gate, and steadily it was pulled open by some sort of mechanics. “Step through,” the voice added, and the two of made their way inside the facility. “Close it up,” the voice spoke off to the side, and the gate shut behind them. It was then Dean noticed three people standing in front of the door to the building. Two men, one woman, all armed.

“We’re here to search the two of you,” one of the guys said. “Make sure you’re not bringing in any weapons.”

“All our shit’s in my car,” Dean said, and he felt all the more naked for it.

“If you’re in need of weapons, we have a modest cache,” Castiel said, helpfully unhelpful. Dean gave him a dirty look.

“What are your names?” the woman asked. She looked to be in her early twenties maybe. She had a clipboard.

“Name’s Dean,” Dean told her. “That’s Cas.” It was tricky because the demons were on the lookout for them and giving out their names wasn’t the smartest idea, but Dean wasn’t about to lie to the barrel of a gun so he gave these people that much. They didn’t need to know any last names. Not that Cas even had one.

“Two S’s?” the woman asked.

Dean said, “Yeah,” the exact time Cas said “No.” Cas shot a glare off in Dean’s direction.

“Well, Dean,” the woman said. “Step over to me and I’m going to search you, okay?” Dean thought about saying some sort of joke but he _ really _ didn’t feel like getting shot today. “Cas, walk to Jesse. Slowly.” A man put up his hand and Cas nodded, walking over to him.

“Take off your shoes,” Jesse ordered and Cas reached down slowly to comply, as did Dean. He kicked over his set of shoes to the woman who picked them up, running her hands along the inside.

Jesse patted up Cas’s legs, searching. “Hey, cool tats,” the man with the gun said to Cas. Cas smiled bashfully over at him, saying thanks, completely disconnected from the situation they were in. Was he still high?

The woman held up the lockpick she’d found in Dean’s shoe. “Listen,” Dean said, because it had honestly slipped his mind that he’d kept it. “What am I gonna do, shank someone with a lockpick?” The woman raised her eyebrow at him.

“Can you do that?” not-Jesse asked. The girl rolled her eyes.

“Of _ course _ you can do that,” she said. Dean hadn’t had to test that and figured his lockpick would probably snap before it’d do damage in a fight, but he’d keep it in mind for when and if he ever got out of this situation.

“Permission to move?” he asked. She glanced over at her compatriot, who nodded, and she looked back at Dean.

Hell, if he was gonna give them reason to strip him, so he took out every lockpick, boxcutter, and switchblade he carried. He set them on the ground in front of him and tossed her a challenging look. “Sorry, still gonna search you, dude,” she said, starting on feeling up his leg. Dean gritted his teeth and took it.

When she got up to his crotch she looked up at him, no doubt trying to figure out what he was packing. “Listen, sweetheart,” he said, managing to find his backbone. “Buy me dinner first.” She let go of him like she’d been shocked. She clenched her jaw and carried on patting him up, paying special attention to his chest when she got there. Yeah, she fucking knew. She fucking _ knew _. But she let things rest.

“He’s clean,” she said, stepping away, picking up all his junk off the ground and shoving it in her bag. “Alright, Dean. My name is Smash, that’s Jesse, and that’s Asa. Come on in. We can talk about the logistics of your car tomorrow.” Dean felt smothered.

“Hang on, Asa?” Dean asked, recognizing the unique name. “Is that—is your last name Fox?” The guy called Asa clapped a look of recognition on him and Dean felt a rush of relief. “Ellen’d always talk about you down at the Roadhouse. I’m Dean Winchester!”

“Hang on, you’re Mary’s kid!” Asa realized. Mary. Most people had always known Dean by his father. “I always thought she’d had a girl.”

“Two boys,” Dean coughed, feeling mixed up because Asa must’ve known his mother pretty early on. “You knew her?” he asked, trying not to come off vulnerable. Asa helped him to his feet.

“She was a hunter,” he said, dusting Dean off and looking behind him at Cas. “A lot of us are hunters, here.” That could be good or bad. “Listen, Dean, all our gasoline goes to our generators. We’re going on a raid tomorrow into a hot zone. There’s a gas station there. You help us, we’ll make a detour and give you enough to get you out of state, but I can’t promise you more than that.” Dean nodded, but he still couldn’t trust this, even if Asa was a hunter.

“You’re gonna trust us to fight alongside you after all the Geneva Convention violations you put us through?” Dean asked.

“It’s the zombie apocalypse, dude,” Smash spoke up. “And you clearly haven’t seen Boston. If you’re gonna screw us over out there, you’re only gonna be screwing yourselves.” Dean couldn’t argue with that.

They had to pass through two different sets of locked doors. The fact that they were all locked electronically put Dean’s hackles up given what Asa had said about generators. But once they got inside the building proper, Dean had to admit, “This place looks nice.”

“It was a hospital,” Asa explained. “We’ve got the backup generators running, all the medical equipment you could ever ask for.”

“Let in a lot of newcomers?” Dean asked.

“Nope,” Asa said. “We’re pretty near capacity. If you want in, you’ll have to speak to the woman in charge.”

“I don’t want in,” Dean said, or at least he didn’t think he did. “Just some gas.” Asa nodded.

“Where you headed after?” he asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.” Dean frowned, because he did, kind of. He didn’t know that he could trust Asa with information about Raphael’s vessel, hunter or not. Dean didn’t like spreading information about the archangel blades to anyone but people he trusted had a good head on their shoulders, and most hunters were volatile in that regard.

“There’s a place near here,” Dean said instead. “Camp Chitaqua. It’s the place to be when the shit really hits the fan.”

Asa laughed. “It hasn’t yet?” Dean cleared his throat.

“Hey, Asa,” Dean said. “How’d you know my mom?” Dean’s dad would hardly ever talk about her and well…Dean wanted to know.

Asa gave Dean a sad look because, clearly, he knew how Mary’s story ended. “She saved my life,” he said. “I owe her. And if you’re anything like her, I want to help.” Well, Dean didn’t know how he was. All he knew was that she had wanted hunters for sons, and maybe hadn’t even wanted sons. He swallowed something stuck in his throat and followed Asa.

_ June 19, 2011 – Lebanon, Kansas _

After dinner, Dean and Cas reconnected and were escorted to their room for the night. Settling in, Dean caught that Cas was positively glowing, humming to himself. “You got stoned,” Dean noted. “Here.”

“This place _ was _ a hospital,” Cas reminded him. “And Smash is _ very _ generous.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean said. “Gotta cash in on weed’s medicinal properties.” Cas laughed. It was always somewhat unnerving whenever Cas laughed like that.

“It’s, ah—not weed, Dean. But they _do_ cultivate marijuana here. If you’re interested.” Well, that didn’t sound good. But Cas moved on, murmuring, “I hope you don’t mind, I told her about Camp Chitaqua. She seems very competent.” Dean didn’t mind. He didn’t plan on going to Chitaqua, and obviously Cas had heard him tell Asa. Dean didn’t have monopoly on that information.

“This place looks pretty well put together,” he replied. “They might not have to move on.” He had half a mind to stick around in Lebanon or come back later.

“I thought you said Kansas gets quarantined by the military,” Castiel murmured.

“Kansas City,” Dean corrected, which was a few tics over in Missouri, and closer to Chitaqua generally. But…still. Maybe Cas was right. Maybe they’d need to move on. It seemed, no matter which way Dean drove he’d somehow wind up driving to Missouri anyhow.

The room was cramped with one check-up bed in the corner and a wheeled bed shoved against the wall. There was a poster about the digestive system on the wall. Dean claimed the check-up bed given that it had the best view of the door. He sat down, trying to get comfortable on it.

“You know, I don’t see the point of biology,” Cas was saying, looking over Dean’s shoulder at the poster. “Organs I suppose are relevant but the delin-delineations from one species to the next are _ operational _ definitions at best. The laws of quantum mechanics are more dependable.” Cas staggered a little. Dean didn’t know what the fuck Cas was talking about, but he could appreciate the number of syllables.

“Jesus, you really _ are _stoned,” her muttered. Cas smiled.

“Still,” he carried on, “Biology is something you humans have placed a great deal of import on.”

Dean couldn’t help but scoff, “Tell me about it.” Cas grumbled to himself and settled down next to Dean, just about nuzzling his head against Dean’s arm. “Hey, Cas,” Dean spoke up, because he’d always wondered. “When you brought me back.” They’d never really talked about it much. “You were…kind of selective about what…what would stay and what would go.”

“I recognized some scars were intentional,” Cas said, opening his eyes and blinking slowly at Dean. “Like your anti-possession tattoo.” Cas was fortunate, because if he’d healed Dean’s top surgery Dean would’ve made it his life’s mission to end him.

Still, his heart clenched. “Was there…was there no way you could have…” he trailed off. Probably not. Wasn’t like Cas could just whip up some new chromosomes on Dean’s behalf. Except, except that he _ definitely _ could have, and just hadn’t.

“I wasn’t aware it was a problem,” Castiel replied, as though it was that simple. He sounded sorry though, for how little that meant. “I…didn’t understand the significance, at the time.”

“Right,” Dean said, trying to keep the resentment from his voice. Angels were like that.

“I’m sorry,” Cas offered, and he sounded so genuine that he made it worse.

“No, nah,” Dean said. “It’s—it’s fine.” But damn, if it didn’t still sting. Whatever. The world was ending. Dean was okay with himself. Didn’t matter. He was probably always gonna be Dean Winchester, no matter what, and he couldn’t decide if that made him feel confident or claustrophobic. Christ, he hated the angels.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, twisting his neck to lean his forehead against Dean’s arm.

“Leave it,” Dean suggested. There was nothing Cas could say that could make Dean feel any better. Cas seemed to recognize that because he stopped trying, but he put his hand on Dean’s arm, just holding the warmth there but fuck if he was going to cuddle. He got to his feet.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” he told Cas as he disentangled them. Cas nodded, looking up at Dean with wide eyes. “You, uh—just, carry on ascending to the next astral plane.” Thankfully Cas didn’t follow him, but his depressed, apologetic expression was burnt itself into Dean’s eyelids.

Again, outside their room in the main hall, Dean was struck at what a well-oiled machine this hospital was. Dean put his elbows up onto a railing, people-watching. The day was winding down to an end after dinner, but a lot of people were still about, walking like they had some place to be, some job to do. It was good.

“Hi,” a woman spoke up from behind Dean. Dean glanced over at her. She had long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a pretty face with dark brown eyes and a strong jaw. “You’re new around here?” She had an accent.

“Just passing through,” Dean said.

“Where you headed?” the woman asked. She was very nice about it all but Dean couldn’t help but wonder if she was interrogating him. But fuck it. He could talk.

“Just need enough gas to get to Missouri,” he said. “I’m looking for someone I lost there.” It was vague enough to be true.

“I guess we all are,” she said, seeming to accept his answer, maybe not even that interested in it. “I’m Ellie, by the way.” She held out her hand and he shook it, it was firm and confident.

“Dean,” he replied.

“Oh, I know,” she said, giving him a teasing smile. “I just thought I’d make things even.” The way she spoke put Dean at ease. He could’ve been wrong, and she could’ve been flattering him, but he was pretty sure she was flirting.

“Well,” he said, enjoying himself. “I’m a—uh, big fan of equality, so.”

“Looks like we have things in common,” she said, leaning into him with her bare shoulder. And she really was gorgeous. Tall and slim with a beautiful smile she had pointed directly at him. Then she turned her head and said to him, “Hey. So…” she placed a hand on his chest. “I think you’re really hot. You want to go to my room and have sex?”

“What?” Dean asked, blinking. She just smiled and then a second later he was able to catch up. “You’re pretty forward, Ellie,” he replied, nearly choking. “I’m not complaining,” he hastened to add. Ellie seemed pleased.

“I know what I want,” she replied. “And it’s the end of the world, so why beat around the bush?”

“Damn!” Dean laughed out loud. “What a line.” She grinned and shrugged, unabashed.

“You can use it. I’d offer you a drink, but,” she smiled apologetically. “Limited supplies.”

“Seriously?” he asked. “Pretty sure the guy I came with got his hands on _ something _ earlier.”

“Well,” she said. “I have some weed in my room. And the offer,” she said, leaning in. “Still stands.” Then, there was a crack in her confidence, as she raised her eyebrows. “Unless you…don’t want to.”

“Oh, no, no, no. No, I want to,” Dean said. He laughed. “Believe me.” She grinned, leaning in.

“Alright then,” she said. “Want me to give you a private tour?” Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. He’d done so well by this point to avoid outing himself to what probably amounted to a couple hundred strangers in a building that required two fucking passcodes to get in and out of. Dean mulled it over. But, he wasn’t one to let an opportunity slide, so he let her drag him along.

“So, Ellie, what’s this place like?” he asked.

“It’s great,” she said, running her hand down his arm, wrist, to join their hands together as she led him down the hallways passed some interested glances from her neighbours. “Place runs super efficiently, and you’ll see how the raids go tomorrow. It’s cramped, but we’ve been making do. Some people wanna shut the doors, not let anyone else in in case they’re infected. I guess you got lucky. And that’s not any way to live anyhow.”

“How do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Whatever’s happening, it’s only going to get worse. And after what happened in Boston, people have to organize,” she explained. “I was working on a farm in Idaho when people started going nuts. Managed to find this place but I was travelling alone at first for awhile. It’s shit. You’re lucky you have your partner. We need people. Shutting everyone out and starving because of paranoia won’t work. We need to take the risk.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed a little quietly. “Guess so.”

“Sorry,” she said, turning around and giving Dean a mischievous look as they settled in front of what was clearly her door. “Didn’t want to kill the mood.” God knows she was hellbent on resurrecting it. She grabbed his belt loops and pulled him in close. Jesus. Only a complete jackass would have sex at a time like this. He kissed her.

She muttered something like, “Oh hell yes,” against his mouth and let him press her up against the door. “Hold on, I have to say something,” Ellie said, pulling away. Dean’s heart sunk to somewhere in his midsection. But then she said, “I—I don’t have a condom. And I like you, Dean, but I—”

“Hey, we can do other things,” Dean insisted, feeling relieved. He added, because he didn’t want her to think about giving him a handjob or anything, _ “I _ can do other things.” He gave her a slow grin.

“Oh my god,” Ellie muttered to herself, unlocking her door. “Can I keep you?” Dean laughed. He figured he wouldn’t mention that his generosity was born out of self-preservation. Her room was comparatively spacious to his and Cas’s, given that there was only the one cot inside, and she hopped up onto it, spreading her legs eagerly. There was a footstool on the ground, which came to be the perfect height to kneel on.

“Pretty sure this goes against hospital policy,” he told her, stealing lines from daytime TV.

“Desperate times,” Ellie replied as she started to undress.

_ June 20, 2011 – Lebanon, Kansas _

Dean woke up the next morning disoriented and confused. He had someone wrapped up in his arms…Ellie. He still had all his clothes on, which was all he could ask for. Carefully, Dean shifted out of her embrace, and she didn’t even stir. She was totally dead to the world and Dean let himself feel a little proud of that. He got to his feet and quietly walked over to the door. He felt bad skipping on her in case he didn’t see her later but, he figured after last night he could be a dick the next morning and still have the overall experience still land in his favour. He stepped outside and softly shut the door behind him.

It was morning and not a ton of other people were out and about. Dean caught Asa walking by. “You seen Cas?” he asked. “He wasn’t in our room.” Neither of them had been, apparently.

“Yeah,” Asa said, blinking and jerking his thumb behind him. “Saw him in the C Ward. We’re leaving in half an hour and if he wants breakfast, now’s the time.” Dean nodded.

He managed to find the C Ward alright, that was the handy thing about having a setup in a hospital—labels and maps everywhere. But what was inside the ward Dean couldn’t have expected. Cas, nestled comfortably among multiple naked bodies. Dean wasn’t the only one who’d been busy last night, and Cas had even landed some honest-to-God group sex. It was impressive in its own right.

“Sst,” he hissed. “Cas, buddy. Up ‘n’ at ‘em.” Cas stirred.

“Good morning, Dean,” he said, voice rough, obviously groggy. Then he caught sight of all of the people he was surrounded by and looked up at Dean as though he were trying to gauge his reaction. “I had sex last night,” he said, as though he needed to clarify.

“I noticed,” Dean told Cas. If Dean had ever been worried that Cas might get jealous about Dean, he knew he didn’t have to now.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Cas noted, tilting his head to the side. “Did I do this in the future?” He leaned back lazily, raising an eyebrow as he glanced to his side to the dude snoring on his left. “With this many people?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, starting to get annoyed. It happened often enough, apparently, to not be out of the ordinary. There was something irritating about the way Cas could get high and have an orgy where Dean had to jerk himself off between someone’s thighs. He wasn’t complaining, except that he was. Cas had officially become the hippie love guru Dean’d seen in 2014. Cas’s fall had happened faster than Dean had expected.

“Interesting,” Cas replied, as though to prove the point. Dean rolled his eyes. Glad the end of the world was thought-provoking.

“Anyway, you good?” Dean asked, holding out a hand to help Cas to his feet.

“Ask them,” Castiel replied, winking at someone behind Dean. Instead of kicking Cas’s ass like the situation deserved, Dean heaved Cas upright and was satisfied when Cas went a little green.

“Good to _go_,” Dean clarified.

“Sure,” Castiel said easily, letting go of Dean’s hand. He stretched, bones popping with the movement.

“Then put on some clothes,” Dean said gruffly, looking over Cas’s bedraggled clothes. “I’ll grab us some breakfast, then we’re out.”

At the cafeteria, Dean grabbed a few apples and then loaded up two plates full of breakfast food. It was kind of ridiculous the food they had. Hashbrowns. Sausages. Pancakes, even. A friggin’ respectable breakfast. He was just about to find Cas when he turned around and saw him approaching.

“Cas,” Dean greeted before he got distracted, catching the fact that Cas wasn’t wearing the shirt he’d come. It was…lowcut, to say the least, with tasteful ruffles at the sleeves. “That’s a lady’s shirt.” He looked at the shirt pointedly and then back up at Cas’s face.

Castiel glanced down at himself. “Oh, is it? I didn’t know,” he said, in a way that put Dean under the impression that he definitely had and was just fucking with Dean. Castiel looked up again, narrowing his eyes on Dean. “I’m going to keep wearing it.” And it wasn’t like Dean could argue.

“Right,” he gave in. “Well, let’s move.”

“Let’s,” Castiel agreed, taking his plate off of Dean’s hands, smacking his lips and helping himself to a pancake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, apparently I initially posted this chapter out of order with the previous one.


	13. July 2011

_ July 6, 2011 – Lowry City, Missouri _

Dean had his hands elbow-deep in blood. Oxygen-red and slick, when he moved it clung to him and he slid that knife to the back of their ribs. Some demon, or would-be demon. This was the thing about Hell, it wasn’t fun for anyone, unless you were the one with the knife in any situation. Demons hated going back to Hell because it meant you fucked up, meant you were weak, meant you were, no matter how far you’d risen, at the bottom of the pecking order again.

But there was Alistair’s tricky voice, coaxing Dean along, his prized student. Dean hadn’t fucked up yet, so he got to saw into this soul beneath him on the table, whether they were more demon than him or less. But that soul barely winced as he dug in, which was annoying, not Dean’s style. He was better than this, so he tried spiking his knife between their ribs, cracking them open. And that got them, whining like some injured animal. But then they started to cry.

_ “Dean,” _ a voice gasped. Sam. _ “Stop it, don’t do this—you’re hurting me—” _ and Dean’s hands moved on their own, sawing deep and Alistair was chuckling, dry and high-pitched, and Sam started screaming—

_ “Dean,” _ Castiel’s voice rang out in his ear, grasping him by the shoulder and shaking him awake.

“Christ,” Dean gasped. “Jesus, it’s fine, Cas get off—” and he couldn’t stop gasping. He must’ve shoved Cas pretty hard because then he was free, and he slunk himself over to the sink, nearly suffocating on panic.

He ran the tap. Stale water in pipes, not even cold, but it was something, it was a solid pressure against his wrist and hand. He was okay. He was alive. The world was shit, but it was still the world. He wasn’t in Hell. He wasn’t being hurt. He wasn’t hurting anyone. Except maybe Cas. Dean sank down to the floor. Jesus.

“Sorry,” he said, pulse sounding impossibly fast against his palm. He was drenched in sweat. He dipped his head between his legs, closing his eyes. The dark dipped and swayed. “Sorry—” _ I yelled, you had to see that, for everything. _

_ “I’m _ sorry, Dean,” Castiel murmured, tentatively walking over to sit next to Dean against the wall. The sound of water stopped above their heads. Dean was expecting him to go on, but he didn’t. And the silence sounded like buzzing insects in Dean’s ears so he filled it, desperately.

“What are you takin’ about, man?” he asked, trying not to sound hysterical.

“I—” Cas said, regretful. “I…should have helped. Before…” before Dean started bawling, clearly. No one wanted to see that shit.

“Not like we’re bunking,” Dean said. “You don’t have to—_babysit _ me.” He spat the words. “I should be over this.” He was never getting over this. He’d been okay for awhile, he’d actually been better with Cas he felt like, despite all that had happened. Things had kind of tapered down to a sort of dull ache. He had no idea what’d set him off like this. Things hadn’t been this bad since—well, since he’d first gotten back. Not that things had been easy for Cas either.

The gas they’d gotten in Kansas had put them a decent ways into Missouri but Dean hated seeing the gas tank trend back down to empty. They only had so many cans of gas, and that was weight the Impala had to carry. Baby had always served Dean well, but each day she became more of a liability out here. And they had to get all the way south to Green Forest where Raphael’s vessel apparently was located, if she hadn’t already moved on.

Where they were right now in Missouri was empty, more or less. But there were already pockets of the military settling in in different towns. There was a chance that that’s what had gotten to Dean. That and the fact that the number of Croatoan cases they were coming across was, while spotty, increasing. Things were getting worse.

“I used to be able to help,” Castiel explained. “My Grace.” Dean squinted at Cas in the darkness.

“Like, when you visited my dreams?” he asked. Had Cas been tiptoeing through his tulips all this time?

“Not exactly,” Castiel said uneasily. “But…I _ could _ help. Watch over you. And now…apparently that’s just another thing I can no longer do.” He turned his head slightly to give Dean a brief, sad smile.

“Didn’t ask for that, Cas,” Dean said, voice hard. It was so much easier to be angry than to be terrified.

“I know,” Cas said softly. Then, “I have medication if you want…from the hospital.” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What kind of meds are you talking about?” he asked.

“Chlordiazepoxide, lorazepam…percocet,” Cas said. He raised an eyebrow, earnest. His eyes were so light they almost looked transparent. “They can help. I have others.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean complained. “You really getting hopped up on that shit? That stuff’s addictive.” Dean was no expert, but all those sounded suspect as all hell and Dean knew Cas was a goddamn mess in 2014, but there was no sense in getting a head start.

“I’m not in danger of addiction,” Cas sulked. “Given the world we live in.” And then he clammed up, offended. And his silence, again, was something that couldn’t bait Dean even while it drove Dean out of his goddamn mind. Dean banged his skull against the wall behind him, knuckles white, clenched in fists.

“Christ,” Dean swore, just to drive back the quiet. Cas made a noise like he agreed. “Do you have nightmares, Cas?” Dean asked. He amended, “Dreams.” He wanted to talk about anything else. Cas seemed open to it.

He sat down next to Dean, letting out a soft, very human grunt as he did so. “I do have nightmares,” he said. “About…battles I’ve fought. There are…memories I have, which I hope to not forget but in my dreams—they become distorted. Confused. Upon waking, I know my history but during my dreams…I can believe anything. Quite often I’m back there. At the precipice of history.”

It sounded cool, but also something so beyond Dean’s comprehension that it wasn’t worth asking about. “Once, a girl I was into dreamed that I cheated on her and stopped talking to me,” Dean offered, bringing things back down to earth. His voice was rough. Cas smiled at that, but there was something tired about it. “So, you’re doing okay?”

Cas ran a tongue along his lips, quietly choosing his words. “To dream that I am a soldier in God’s army, all-powerful and with a singular pure focus…and then to wake up,” he said at last, “to this…useless body.” Dean’d been so wrapped up in his own business he hadn’t even noticed.

It wasn’t like Dean had never had good dreams that he’d never wanted to wake up from…in 2007, Dean had gotten nabbed by a djinn and he could still remember it, clear as day. Mom alive, Dad passed peacefully (and what the hell did _ that _ mean), Sam close but far enough for the two of them to breathe…Lisa had been there, beautiful and warm. Dreams he’d have where his chest was smooth and his dick was regular. Waking up stung every time.

“Sorry you got me to wake up to,” Dean offered. He tried for a charming smile, which Cas matched even though…it was pretty obvious this was weighing on him. They’d stop Lucifer but…if Dean had said yes when he was supposed to, Cas would never be in this situation. “Being human isn’t _ that _ bad, right?” He was playing offended, but really, he _ needed _the reassurance that…that this wasn’t all his fault.

“I thought…by siding with humanity, I could be of some use,” Cas said. “Now I know I’m more useless than ever. If I had…if I had gone with my brothers and sisters, perhaps I could have helped preserve Heaven’s power, perhaps even stop the war—”

“No way,” Dean said firmly, because he had to believe Cas was making the right call. “No, screw that, Cas. Don’t think like that.” Dean couldn’t carry the guilt of Cas leaving his family for some crusade that left him weaker than he’d ever been before. Not on top of everything else. Cas’s lips pulled into a smile.

“I was fascinated when I first met you, Dean,” he said. Dean blinked, feeling a little out of depth with the change in topic.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, deciding it was probably best to speak plainly. Because yeah, Cas had gone from looking at Dean like something interesting stuck to the bottom of his shoe to—something he could trust. And Dean didn’t know where or why that switch had flipped but it obviously had.

Cas had been an asshole when he’d first met Dean, smirking and swaggering around like his metaphysical dick was too big for his slacks. But yeah…there had been something about Cas, something that had gotten Cas invested in Dean way before Dean had even started to consider him anything but a bureaucrat for the world’s most disappointing organization.

“Feeling is discouraged among angels but you…felt so much,” Cas explained quietly. Oh, yeah, because Dean was big on the emotions. “Your soul would burn with it.” Well, shit. Dean was pretty good at pinning all his garbage down, but yeah. Cas was an angel and could read him.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Dean said, fighting the urge to rub the prickle in his eyes. Dean would’ve loved to be stoic, but that just wasn’t something in the cards for him, and try as he might he often couldn’t help himself. “Sorry for the melodrama.”

“No, that’s not it,” Cas disagreed. Dean swallowed reflexively. How Cas could look at the shittiest parts of Dean and find something nice to say about them was beyond Dean. But, he did appreciate it.

“Well, you sure know how to sweet talk, Cas,” he said, but his voice came out too soft. Castiel shrugged next to him.

“I only meant to say that, I had always been taught emotions were a weakness,” Cas said. “But they seemed to power you, imbue you with strength that even my superiors didn’t seem to possess.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “What’s that?” Because, yeah Dean was a badass, but no human could top an archangel, or even Cas at the height of his powers.

“Your resilience,” Cas replied. Dean looked Cas over for a moment. Then laughed.

“Cas, I don’t know if you remember, but I folded,” he said. Cas had yanked him out of Hell, but Dean had still fucking picked up the knife.

“You haven’t,” Cas said softly, reaching over to put his hand on Dean’s arm. Dean tensed, not sure what Cas was trying for, but Cas just caught Dean’s eye and tilted his head to the side. “Even at your lowest point, you found a way to stand and fight. It’s admirable Dean. You should be proud of yourself.” Dean didn’t feel proud.

“Alright Cas,” he said. “You think emotions are superpowers. Now you’re human, more or less. Still feel like that?” Cas retracted himself from Dean’s space, frowning a little. Dean regretted being so harsh on him. Leaning over a little into Cas’s space he muttered, “You’re trying your best, Cas, alright?”

“I’m not sure if my best is enough,” he said. “That I’m not just another burden for you to carry.” Dean had been carrying shit his entire life. He’d picked up Sam at age four and never quite put him down. Cas didn’t feel like that.

“We’ll get this done, Cas, okay?” Dean said firmly. Cas didn’t look reassured.

“When I dream, Dean…” he said quietly, “and I _ do _dream…I’m myself again.” Dean looked Cas over, his stubble growing in patchy, the lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes. “I don’t know who I am, currently.” Maybe this was just above Dean’s paygrade…Dean had never bothered with philosophical questions. It was live or die, fight or flight, not…whatever Cas was talking about.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean advised, getting to his feet, finding that he’d managed to calm down listening to Cas’s existential angst. He’d be able to get back to bed no problem. He helped Cas up. “Good talk,” he said. Cas looked like he wanted to talk some more but Dean had maxed out on emotions for the night, and possibly the following day or month.

“Sorry for waking you up,” Dean offered, feeling bad for making Cas live on his dime.

“It’s alright,” Cas said, smiling a little but he sounded just as exhausted, weary, as Dean. “I’ll likely survive.” Dean looked Cas over, feeling a little curious, but decided he was too tired for it after all.

“Night,” he muttered, hobbling back to bed, crashing down into something dreamless.

_ July 13, 2011 – Owasso, Oklahoma _

They’d gotten pushed out of Missouri by rumours of the virus in Springfield, and the responding military presence, so they’d decided to loop around through Oklahoma, and god forbid Arkansas if they had to, to access Missouri from the south. It was a waste of gas, time, and just about everything else, and it was wearing them both thin.

Dean didn’t like talking about the things that weighed him down, and he didn’t like to hear Cas talk about those things either because it added to Dean’s weight. But clearly Cas had something to cope for because wherever they went, whoever they ran into, Cas would do some odd jobs for gas, for food, and for drugs. He was getting the hang of things, at least Dean hoped.

They’d found themselves some flash of civilization in Oklahoma. It was better off further south they went as far as infrastructure went, even if people themselves were more fucking crazy, and Dean was aiming to avoid anything south of Oklahoma entirely. Cas had stayed behind all day in a motel they’d rented, yes actually rented in exchange for coffee grounds Cas had had the foresight to steal a few towns back, as Dean had bartered for their gas. And Dean let himself feel optimistic, because they hadn’t been in a proper town since Broken Bow, and hadn’t been around people since Kansas, and it was good to be surrounded by something that resembled normalcy.

Cas was not feeling it though. He spent most mornings toking up and most afternoons drinking. But he was on his feet most of the time so Dean didn’t say much. He wasn’t the kind of junkie that would sell you down the river so Dean figured it was fine. Up until the point where Dean spent all day getting fuel, and came back to an overdose.

_ “Cas,” _ was all Dean could manage to say, all he could do, ripping Cas off of the bed and dragging him to his feet. Cas’s eyes flew open, and he sagged in Dean’s arms, before turning away and promptly throwing up on the carpet. Fucking _ Christ. _ At least he was alive enough to vomit.

“You stupid, _ selfish _ bastard,” he growled, getting a good hold on Cas and dragging him to the bathroom. He got Cas’s legs over the edge of the tub, setting him down, reaching to the handle to turn the shower on, cold. Cas groaned in discomfort, aware, shifting. Dean let out a sigh, almost keeling over with the relief of it.

“Dean?” Cas asked, sitting up to avoid the water’s spray, voice high and a bit breathy in genuine confusion.

“You _ idiot,” _ Dean snarled, his voice coming out all fucked up even to his own ears. “You goddamn _ child.” _ Cas was not going to die on him, not after all this shit.

Dean sat on the bath’s rim for awhile, letting the water wash over Cas, partly to wake him up but also partly to satisfy the part of Dean that was _ pissed beyond belief _. Dean would’ve punched Cas if he didn’t half-think it would shatter him.

He eventually pulled Cas out of the bath, suddenly a little afraid that the cold would make him weaker, drenched clothes sticking to the both of them, throwing a towel around Cas’s shoulders and leading him across the hall to Dean’s room because he’d be damned if they were going to sleep next to Cas’s own vomit.

He dragged Cas to the bed, taking off his shirt, not caring for the buttons, replaced it with blankets. Cas was shivering now, staring up at Dean with pupils that were almost impossibly narrow. Tattoos stood out like brands against his ribs—when had he gotten those? Cas had been changing a lot when Dean hadn’t been looking. Dean got into the bed next to him, pulling down his pants and adding his warmth to the blankets surrounding Cas.

He watched Cas all night. He had to stop caring about junkies, all it ever did was rip his fucking heart out. Any time Cas’s eyes started to droop, Dean pinched him, hard. He didn’t know how to do this. Didn’t know how to keep Cas alive, so he just settled on keeping him awake. Eventually, around 2 am, Cas started to talk.

“You can’t imagine, Dean,” he murmured into the blankets. “Your mind is—limited by your species, your mortality.” Dean bristled at that but Cas went on, miserably, “I could see every wavelength of energy—electromagnetic and otherwise. See, _ sound _, shaking the nitrogen as it passed through the air. I was able to witness molecules, cling and vaporize and melt and form beautiful, intricate, lattices.”

Dean just listened. He didn’t understand half of what Cas was saying, never heard of some of the words, but the way Cas was speaking, the pain in his voice, the mourning, was mesmerizing. “When you bled, I saw hemoglobin. When I touched you, I could feel your white blood cells, course through your blood vessels, slipping through the cracks of them. I could, I could _ help _ them.”

“I could taste your car’s exhaust—carbon monoxide, benzene, and soot. Nitric oxide leading, invariably, to ozone—pooling in the afternoon. The tides of modern humanity,” his voice was low, crackling like a fire. “The only time I ever feel remotely like myself again is when I’m on high on hallucinogens.” Dean’s stomach twisted.

“Yeah, every junkie has a reason,” he replied harshly, tugging the sheets tighter around Cas. “But most of them can admit it just feels good.”

“It does,” Cas agreed, voice soft. “I never used to feel at all.” Dean gritted his teeth. Just another thing that was Dean’s fault. Cas was overexposed to the world, more human than angel, and carrying the burden that was experiencing hell on earth. Dean could get that being drugged up was the only way to feel good anymore, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be sympathetic.

“Sorry to break it to you, Cas,” he said, anger making him brutal. “But things don’t get better. So, get used to this. Get used to sitting down here in the dirt with the rest of us.” Cas nodded.

“It’s not—” his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, I didn’t—I never meant to cause you distress.” He was having trouble with his words, and Dean didn’t know if it was because of the stress or drugs or the sheer humanity of it all.

“Well, what did you think would happen?” Dean asked, a little cruelly. Then he gaped. Did Cas really think…“Did you think I wouldn’t care? Who the _ hell _ d’you take me for?” He felt angry, offended.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you hadn’t,” Cas confessed, defusing Dean with just the sheer depth of his depression. “What use am I to you?” Cas twisted in the sheets to look at Dean. “I was a heavenly soldier, and then I was your ally, and now…now I am nothing. I can’t help you. Even now, all I do is inconvenience you. I’m _ pathetic _, Dean. What else can I do but…fall.”

Dean opened his mouth and found it wordless. He was the reason Cas was in this mess to begin with. The reason why Cas had turned away from Heaven, time and time again. He’d always asked too much of Cas and Cas, Cas had always given it to him. “Sorry I pulled you into this,” he muttered, dragging his hand across his face, full of nervous energy all of a sudden.

“No,” Cas said, sounding dismayed. “I have—I have no regrets following you. I only regret that I—that I’m not a better follower. And I don’t know how to—change that. Change myself.” Dean glanced at Cas. It wasn’t even easy for humans to change who they were, much less someone who only had a few years of practice under his belt.

“Well, I’m not keeping you around because you’re useful,” he muttered.

“That much is obvious,” Cas started laughing and that was worse.

“Shut up, just _ shut your mouth _ for one second,” Dean yelled. “You can _ live _.” And he didn’t have the bravery to elaborate but Cas just looked at him, sad eyes and all. “You can live. For starters. You can hang onto this miserable world.” Dean took a breath. He felt like hitting something.

“You can stop being such a coward and feeling so damn sorry for yourself. You can quit messing around with shit like this. You can—” he cut himself off, breath becoming faint with his anger. “Hell, I’ll write you a list. But I need you alive for it.” _ I need you alive. _

Cas nodded. “I was there, wasn’t I?” he asked, sounding pained, unforgivably reluctant. Dean’s shoulders stiffened. So, Cas had condemned himself to this life already.

“You know, don’t do me any favours, Cas,” Dean said coldly.

“I want to,” Cas said, and he looked so tired and defeated next to Dean. “I’ll be here,” he murmured, reaching out of the sheets to clutch Dean’s shoulder. “I can’t promise I’ll be happy about it. I can’t even promise I’ll be sober for most of it.” His eyes were still a little out of focus, face lined with sadness.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, instinctual, a little hysterical, and the movement scratched his throat, pricked at his eyes. Things were certainly working out that way, weren’t they?

“But I won’t make you worry about me,” Cas said a little fiercely. That was an impossible promise, and a little too late, but Dean could at least appreciate the sentiment of it—even if he didn’t fully believe it. He let out a shaky sigh.

“You can sleep now, man,” he said. Cas just looked at Dean. Looked like he wanted to keep talking. His eyes were watery with some type of apology, and he just kept staring at Dean, the way he used to when they’d first met, close and intimate and unbearably intense. Dean just reached over him to turn off the light, and Cas’s hand fell to the sheets. It hardly mattered, the sun was already starting to rise.

_ July 23, 2011 – Fayetteville, Arkansas _

Things were hard, the next few days. Initially Dean hadn’t let Cas wander far off, still waiting for him to crumble apart again, relapse and overdose and die and leave Dean by himself. But somewhere along the line it flipped where Dean couldn’t stand to look at him, at his pathetic simpering ways, limping along like every gust of wind shaking his bones was an injury or an insult. So, they traveled alone for awhile, or as near as. Cas grabbed a car, because he could drive now, siphoned gas, and they tailed each other till the state-line. Kept missing each other as they moved.

In a way, it was almost a relief. That Dean wasn’t as dependent on someone as he’d feared. He’d traveled alone before, and truth be told, he’d hated it. He couldn’t work with his dad without screwing up and he hadn’t worked much better by himself. Taking down the variety of things that went bump in the night alone, stitching himself up in gas station washrooms because fuck if he was going to let his dad know he’d gotten swiped or bled on the seats, trying to act like a normal friggin’ person when talking to women to get some shred of human interaction. It’d been messy. Each day was a fucking deathwish.

So while, logically he’d known, Sam deserved an out, he’d spent a good portion of that time wanting to drag his kid brother back into the dangerous life he’d worked so hard to protect him from when they were young. Like an addict trying not to drink alone. He’d craved Sam back, and then he’d gotten him, and here they were again. Once more, Dean was alone. Inevitably. Everyone always left him.

He knew, he knew it wasn’t permanent, so perhaps why this time it was better, easier. Because it was. He knew Cas wasn’t going to hold a grudge for Dean holding that space between them. But really…in some way, Dean needed that space. Because fuck it—it had fucking _ hurt _ that Cas had nearly offed himself just to feel—what, buzzed?

But, even so…Dean could understand. Dude’d never experienced emotions and falling the way he had, when he had, was the equivalent effect of being shoved into the deep end of the Atlantic. Still, again, logic didn’t help Dean too much. He was stuck between resenting Cas for being so reckless when it was so obvious Dean needed him to stick around, and resenting Cas for having the luxury of spiraling. Still. If he’d learned anything in their timeout, it was that he didn’t need Cas. He wanted him around, and that was different.

Eventually Cas’s car broke down and Dean caught up to him, something sick and tense sitting in his chest. It wasn’t like he’d risk working on the car out here, though this area looked pretty abandoned, relatively safe. They still had to head to Missouri, that hadn’t changed. Wasting two gas tanks, even if gas was more common here, just over a disagreement was pretty stupid anyhow.

Dean took a breath and stepped out of the car over to Cas. Cas just sat up on its hood casual as anything, watching Dean approach with a lazy look. To his credit, Cas looked sober. “You coming or what?” Dean asked, indicating the Impala with a twist of his head.

Cas wet his lips, getting up and stepping forward, almost reluctantly. “So,” he said, a little awkwardly. “You’re not…angry with me, still?” Was Cas kidding?

“Course I’m angry,” Dean said, setting his shoulders straight and unyielding. He didn’t elaborate, and Cas just gaped, not sure where to go from here. Dean let out a sigh and fumbled through his coat. “C’mere,” he said, and Cas complied, walking over. He leaned against the frame of the Impala as Dean got the tape out. He tossed it over and Cas nearly fumbled it.

“What’s this?” he asked, even as he accepted it, turning it over in his hands.

“Led Zeppelin,” Dean said gruffly. “Best of.” He hadn’t felt like getting into a theological discussion by asking Cas when his birthday was, and nowadays it felt kind of awkward to celebrate Christmas, so he’d just whipped out the gift he’d prepared Cas in his downtime, now as good a time as any.

It was a vulnerable act, even if it was strictly educational. A gesture born out of boredom and lonesomeness, and Cas could probably read that. “Thank you,” Cas said uncertainly. He paused for a moment, still looking at the cassette like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. He glanced up at Dean, eyes wide and unaccusing. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve got your own ride now,” Dean said, gesturing over to the beige monstrosity across the street. Or he’d _ had _ his own ride. “Long drives can be a drag. And now, you can have a little rock n’ roll to go with your drugs.”

It sort of served as a gesture of peace. He’d been pissed beyond belief when Cas had overdosed, Cas had been pissed beyond belief when Dean had said yes, and neither transgression had really done much harm to anyone else but themselves if you wanted to step back and look at it the way God would. Since then, Cas had sort of calmed down, and so had Dean. That all said, he’d wanted Cas to know that humanity wasn’t just—garbage. “Take it, you don’t have to listen to it.”

“No,” Cas said, drawing the tape closer to him, almost defensively. “I will.” He looked at Dean, the look in his eyes softening even if he was clearly no less confused, a small smile crossing his lips. “Thank you.” Dean busied himself with wiping some dirt off the Impala.

In the corner of his eye he saw Cas stuff it in his breast pocket. They’d have to drive quiet for now and besides, there was a weird sort of intimacy to listening to the same music. Dean used to love driving around, blaring his favourites, singing when he felt like it. Now music was kind of reserved for stretches of highway where they’d be driving too fast to be chased by Croats.

Cas’s bemusement had melted to something bizarre and gentle on Dean and Dean stirred against it. “What?” he asked, sounding a little defensive.

“Nothing,” Cas said, voice warm, happy even. “It’s just—it almost sounds like you’ve forgiven me.” For nearly killing himself.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said gruffly. He didn’t have a whole lot of options. “What are friends for?” Cas nodded, same tender way about him, and Dean cleared his throat. “Ditch the car, Cas, we’re carpooling,” he said. Cas just smiled and found his way into the passenger’s seat, and all else clicked into place.

_ July 27, 2011 – Pineville, Missouri _

Missouri was still crawling with soldiers. While he’d mostly managed to avoid sleeping in the Impala but there was no way they were going to get past the military and Dean couldn’t drive another hour. They also couldn’t just keep driving around. They need to settle somewhere because things were…things were going to get worse and they needed to start preparing for it. That hospital back in Kansas had made that clear to him.

“Got a pea in your mattress, Cas?” Dean asked, after Cas’d turned over for the fifth time in two minutes. Dean reached up and inclined the rear-view to catch Cas’s expression and sure enough Cas was looking sour as a battery. “Sorry,” Dean offered, and Cas’s bitterness melted away.

“I’m not that tired,” Castiel murmured. “It’s hard for me to get comfortable.” Dean could see that. Arguably Cas had the best seat in the house, but Cas had never even gotten comfortable with sleeping. Like Dean, he used the method of exhausting himself to the point where he had no choice but to drop off into a hopefully dreamless sleep. He was probably bored.

“Wanna play a game?” Dean suggested, yawning. He wasn’t going to be able to get to sleep with Cas huffing and puffing in the backseat and he figured he could entertain Cas well enough.

“I wanna get stoned,” Cas said frankly. He’d run out awhile back (and well, Dean had helped with that by doing some littering when Cas wasn’t paying attention). He still had weed though.

“Well sorry, but no dice,” Dean said. “You’re stuck with me.” He tried not to sound bitter.

“Well, alright,” Cas said. “What kind of games does one play when they’re sleeping in a car to avoid getting in a sleep deprivation induced car accident or killed by the United States military?” Dean cracked a grin to himself. He shifted to toss his feet up on the dashboard, trying to get a little more comfortable.

“Hmm,” he said, considering. He and Sam had gone through the arsenal of children’s games in their youth on long drives to various hunts. Christ. He’d never had enough of a normal childhood to get a sense of what people did to pass the time like this. Based on a stereotype, Dean suggested, “How ‘bout ‘Truth or Dare’. Know how that works?”

“Would ‘Dare’ involve movement?” Castiel asked wearily. Dean considered.

“How about ‘Two Truths and a Lie,’” he suggested instead. Hadn’t played that game since…he’d never really played. It was just a game Sam had explained one time after a sleepover he’d managed to get to when he was a kid.

“How does that work?” Cas asked.

“Kind of self-explanatory,” Dean said, too lazy to say more on that. “I’ll start. Uh…” his mind blanked. Damn. He and Sam had never even played this game, they’d already known everything about each other. But he wanted to know about Cas. And Cas had been especially cagey lately and while Dean knew that Cas wasn’t getting into hard stuff, anymore anyway, but Dean wanted to know more.

“Let’s see, I uh…I can dig Taylor Swift.” Cas didn’t flinch at this, extremely personal, revelation.

“What else?” he asked.

“Oh,” Dean said, blinking. “I’ve never gotten as much as a scratch on this car. And…alright, uh—I wore women’s underwear one time,” Dean said, since 2014 was on his mind.

“I would think the underwear is the truth,” Cas decided immediately. “Given your…history.”

“No!” Dean bust out, feeling flushed. “That wasn’t…it wasn’t like that.” Cas raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, it was like something else,” he said simply.

“It was lingerie,” Dean explained, clearing his throat. _ “Not _ mine.” That had all been a mistake. Cas had a point about connecting the dots he had—Dean wearing sexy underwear was probably not what Cas had had in mind and how Rhonda had willingly gotten Dean into a pair of pink panties was a miracle that was not bound to be repeated. Cas smiled.

“Hmm,” he said, rolling the noise in his throat. “Maybe I should give that a try.” Dean mashed his head against the seat, trying to get comfortable. He felt a little dizzy.

“Yeah, maybe you should,” he said breathlessly. Rhonda had introduced Dean to a few other things that day, namely how it was like to pack with something you could play with. The mindfuck alone of her fondling a dick through the fabric was probably half of what got him off. The concept of Cas wearing something similar was…weird, but Dean’s brain kept circling back to it like a scratched record that had looped.

“Hmm,” Cas murmured, deciding to let the conversation drop, considering. “The Taylor Swift statement is a lie.”

Dean grinned, eagerly forgetting how weird he’d felt moments earlier. “Buddy, I’ve crashed and repaired this car so many times it probably doesn’t count as the original car anymore,” Dean said, running a hand across the car door. He felt pretty flattered that Cas hadn’t noticed. But, Dean and Bobby had really done a good job with her over the years.

“Let me see if I understand this,” Cas said sourly. “You like Taylor Swift but not Simon & Garfunkle?”

“Oh, bite me, Cas,” Dean said. “‘Fearless’ is soulful. At least Swift doesn’t completely put me to sleep.”

“Pity, we could have used that right now,” Cas pouted. Dean rolled his eyes. Cas had stuffed tape decks of all sorts of folk music in the dashboard, hints Dean wasn’t going to pick up on. He was still the driver, and he’d tried his best to teach Cas taste but…Cas was a rebel and that’s apparently what Dean had signed up for.

“Anyway, your turn,” he said. Cas nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I met Jesus of Nazareth. Or well, one of them, at any rate.” God, so it was going to be like _ that _.

“Right, sure,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “Go on.”

“When Jeanne d’Arc was burning at the stake, I _ personally _alleviated her pain,” Cas smiled. Dean didn’t even know who that was, but Cas’s little smile of, what was it—pride?—was creepy enough for Dean to know he was speaking from experience. Dean nodded and Cas concluded, “I also nearly killed one of your ancestors, or at least severely injured it.”

“Gonna say,” Dean said, choosing a little randomly. “That last one was a lie.”

“His name was Yeshua, and I didn’t meet him,” Cas smiled, pleased at the loophole. “_Anna_ crossed paths with the messiah once. She said he had an impressive beard.”

“Screw you,” Dean said, exhausted. Cas shifted in the backseat, chuckling quietly to himself. And that somehow set Dean more at ease.

He felt a smile tug at his mouth and he looked out the window across at the dark street. It was overcast so even if it’d been a big moon tonight, they wouldn’t have known. But still, the world was cast in a sort of blue glow. He’d never seen anything quite like it. The air outside was so quiet, and the night was so still, empty of lights. It was beautiful, in its own way.

“If you have questions about Heaven, feel free to ask,” Cas spoke up. “My memory is…not what it used to be. I don’t know if…humans were meant to know as much as I do and I’m…I forget things.” His gaze in Dean’s rear-view flickered down guiltily. “At first it was minor details such as…what I had for breakfast, or what the weather was like the day before. But recently, frequently, I…”

He sounded troubled. “I haven’t been able to remember the names of angels who served with me in the Garrison. Those I’ve known my entire life. It might be easier for me to share some of that knowledge, I…I don’t want to forget just yet.” His voice cracked. Christ. No wonder he’d overdosed. And Dean didn’t usually let him complain either, because that weighed too heavy on him too. But Cas deserved that much.

Dean had to consider Cas’s question. “You miss any of them?” he asked after a long moment. And Cas didn’t speak for awhile either. Apparently, he needed a moment too.

Then, “Yes.” He sounded choked. “I miss Anna,” Cas confessed. “A great deal. I wish I wasn’t too proud to accept her guidance.” At least she was still around, and on Team Earth. “I miss Inias and Hester, even, they served beneath me. I even miss Uriel, despite his betrayal,” Cas frowned. “But…you are aware, I trust, that I’ve made my choice. I may not die an angel but…” he sighed. “I’d rather be here. Trying to sleep in the backseat of your dirty old car.”

“She’s not dirty,” Dean muttered defensively, sleepily. His vision was bleary with exhaustion.

“Lived-in,” Cas amended. “Even if I’m a failed angel, at least I haven’t failed humanity the way my siblings have. God told us to love humanity and…and even if He’s forgotten that message, I haven’t. If I’m to die then some things are, as you’d say, worth dying for.” Christ.

“Where will you go?” Dean asked, swallowing around something tight in his throat. “When you die, if you don’t have a soul?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, and that was a cheery thought. “But then, I’m scarcely an angel anymore. So…” Dean could see his lips fold up into a frown in the rear-view. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be certain.”

“Damn,” Dean said, whistling low. “You’re on your last life, then.”

“I’m hardly unique,” Cas said. “Given that Heaven is under Lucifer’s command, anyone still alive has a lot at stake, including yourself.” Fair enough.

It was good Cas phrased it like that. Because, when Cas suggested that the reason he stuck with Dean had anything to do with Dean it…well, it made Dean feel things. Stupid things. Dean did not play well with other children. And when he did, they ended up dead. Usually because of him. Making friends with an angel of God was not something that had been on his bucket list but here he was. Here they were.

Dean had…never really had a friend like Cas. And it sounded pathetic to say out loud, so he didn’t. It was still the truth. Dean had always just had Sam. Dean had always been a kind of messed up kid, which just came with the territory of knowing the names of the monsters under everyone’s bed since before everyone else hit puberty. And then, _ Dean _hit puberty.

He’d had some desperation about him, a sense of incorrectness that predated his language for it, and then the edgy, channeled anger that grew in him when he grew older. He liked to run with the boys, and had spent some of his best time in a boy’s home growing up but, even when they thought Dean was a girl they could recognize something off about him that girls couldn’t. Or, maybe girls could recognize something else about Dean that guys couldn’t. Didn’t matter. Dean had never fit.

He’d gotten along with girls just fine but even that wasn’t friendship, strictly speaking. That was flowers and flirtations and hiding from his dad because he couldn’t know Dean was writing love notes, from reasons that ranged from obvious to batshit, and then they’d move onto the next town. But Dean had always had Sam, a brother and best friend wrapped up in one, so he didn’t need to cram himself into spaces he didn’t fit. Didn’t need to drag anybody out into the dark with him.

But Cas was in it already, so this was different. Dean didn’t know where it had snuck up on him like this but Cas was his best friend. Probably the closest friend he’d ever had. And it wasn’t because he was lonely or desperate, he’d _ been _ lonely and desperate. It was because Cas was a good guy and, dumbass that he was, he seemed to like Dean too. Dean wasn’t about to fuck that up out of some sick curiosity about what else it could be. He was grateful for it.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean spoke up. But Cas didn’t answer. Dean angled the mirror to get a better look at him and sure enough he was asleep, breathing heavily against the seat pressed against his cheek. Cas fit better in the backseat than Sam ever did, or at least ever since he hit his last growth spurt. He looked peaceful, almost. Dean nodded to himself and shut his eyes. For now, they were safe.

_ July 31, 2011 – Steelville, Missouri _

Out of the coat, it was clear that Cas wasn’t super built, but he wasn’t exactly weedy either. Dean had no idea where Jimmy had gotten the time to work out, because he must have—unless it was simply God’s design for Jimmy Novak to have solid muscle effortlessly maintained along his shoulders, legs, and back. Maybe that’s what it was like to have a steady flow of testosterone, but Dean couldn’t help but get caught up on it.

It was weird, to reconcile Cas with Jimmy. Dean had barely known Jimmy but speaking to him felt more like Jimmy had replaced Cas than the reverse to Dean. Dude’d liked burgers, had a wife and one kid, and while Cas dug red meat the commonalities ended around there. Maybe Jimmy’d been a jogger, a health-nut like Sam, because while Cas was kind of on the thin side it was not…not in a bad way. He was fit.

“Dean,” Cas spoke up. Dean blinked.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asked, shaking himself from that line of thinking.

“A gas station is that way,” Cas pointed left, looking at his map. “If there’s still gas left.” Dean nodded. He didn’t get the feeling that they’d be running into anybody here…given how wasted the place was.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the ink, Cas?” Dean asked, eyes catching on the anti-possession tattoo on Cas’s abdomen. Cas raised an eyebrow and pulled up his shirt a little to show it, and the rest of his stomach, off more clearly. Dean and—Dean had gotten his anti-possession tattoo above the heart. It seemed as though that wasn’t all Cas had gotten done.

“Warding,” Cas replied, sounding a little bored. He twisted his abdomen to show the other side where strange and obviously Enochian writings were scribed. “I got it a while ago, Jo’s friend. An anti-possession symbol, like yours, and script which renders me invisible to angels.” Curiosity got the better of Dean. Hey, if it was useful he might need one himself. Cas glanced down at his body, shifting to let his shirt hang slack over his shoulders.

“And that one?” Dean asked, reaching over to tap a sigil traced over on Cas’s chest that he recognized. “That’s an angel banishing sigil, right?” It was a little different, but Dean could recognize the overall pattern. Cas nodded. “Couldn’t you bump it when you’re shaving, how does that work?” Dean asked, looking at the mark dubiously.

Cas actually rolled his eyes. “It requires a level of intent to activate, Dean,” he said, like he was speaking to a toddler.

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo,” Dean sulked. “Not like I’ve had a billion years to memorize the rulebook, have I?” Cas cracked a smile at that, and Dean couldn’t help but let the tension go. “Should I get one?” he asked.

Cas’s eyes trailed their way down Dean’s neck to his collarbone, peaking above his shirt, his anti-possession tattoo just below. Dean shifted beneath the scrutiny. “I don’t know what would happen if you banished me along with anyone else,” Cas said, planning to be there. “Where I would go. And this—this is just a precaution against…” he fell silent.

“If I see one of my siblings again, I don’t think I would rush to send them away,” he concluded softly. “And I’m really not certain that it would affect an archangel I just…I didn’t know what else to do and felt I, felt I should…” do something. Dean could see all that.

“Yeah,” he said and Cas’s eyes narrowed on him, grateful and blue. Dean licked his lips and looked away. “What about a little angelwing tramp stamp?” he suggested, trying to laugh off the moment. “Those are pretty sexy.” Cas let out a snicker.

“I’ll—I’ll take that under advisement,” he said, but his voice was still soft, low and lazy, making an unexplainable chill rumble deep in Dean’s gut. Dean cleared his throat.

“Don’t get infections, alright?” he said roughly, glancing at the tattoos and then, a little playfully, southwards. _ “Any _infections.” To Dean’s credit, Cas laughed at that.

“After my brush with the common cold, I’ll do my best,” he promised. Dean couldn’t take that too seriously though. Cas had nearly died just a few weeks ago, after all.

“That script,” Dean said. “Makes you invisible to angels?”

“I’m not sure that it works for archangels,” Cas said. “Again, I just…”

“Needed to do something,” Dean concluded. “I get it.” Cas looked grateful, and almost like he could cry. Not a safe topic, then. Dean coughed loudly. Then, Dean caught sight of the body of water.

“Jesus,” Dean said aloud at the sight of fish bobbing in the water. Pale as death, their gray scales reflecting light like someone had dumped a bunch of knives on the ground. “The hell happened here?”

“Acid rain, I think,” Cas spoke quietly. “There’s a lot more sulfur in the atmosphere these days.” Friggin’ demons.

“You’d think some of that acid would do something about the friggin’ locusts,” Dean said bitterly. Cas smiled.

“If only,” he agreed, almost leaning into Dean’s side in a way Dean wasn’t sure was an accident or not. But he let it slide.

“C’mon, let’s split,” Dean said. “Got a lot of ground to cover before tomorrow.” Cas hummed his agreement, and they left the slaughter behind.

They found the gasoline, which Cas said was still relatively unspoiled, so they filled up Dean’s tank plus as many gas cans as they could fit in the back. At this point Dean was doubting they’d find Raphael’s vessel more than ever, but they had made it this far and had to keep trucking, so they did. For a time. About an hour further into Missouri, Baby’s engine sputtered and died.

Dean got out, barely resisting slamming the Impala’s door in some strange, bubbling mix of despair and fury. She’d been driving poorly for the past few days and she’d finally given in. Cas slid out of the passengers’ side, walking around to stand next to Dean. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Dean admitted. “Something with the engine, I think. Maybe the battery.” He was trying really hard not to lose his shit. Of all the places to break down, while it wasn’t the best, it wasn’t the worst. Place wasn’t hot with Croats, for one. But Dean would need a lot more than what he had to check out what the issue was, and the sun was starting to climb down in the sky.

“Guess we gotta walk,” Dean said. “We’ll come back tomorrow.” He shut and locked the doors.

“We’re just going to leave it?” Cas asked, face impassive. Dean shrugged, feeling cold all over. There was no other option. The roads were blocked off, and in addition to that, upkeep on the Impala was become more dangerous and wasteful by the day. They’d come back for her, but there was nothing more that could be done today.

He popped open the trunk, digging through it past the gas cans. He always had one backpack stocked with all necessities, he tossed it to Cas who caught it with a little grunt. He found an empty duffel bag and took stock. Weapons, ammunition, clothing. It was more of a matter what he didn’t need than what he did—rock salt, holy water, shit like this was insignificant now, naive, innocent. Cas’s coat was in there too. _ Naive. _

“Dean,” Cas spoke. “Are you sure?” Dean shut his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. Then he slammed the trunk shut, hefting the duffel bag.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re here.” Cas turned his head to follow Dean’s gaze to the map clenched in his fist. Dean caught Cas’s eye. After years of feeling so much less aware about the world than Cas, it felt strange. He took out the map and rolled it open across the hood of the Impala and he traced the lines with his finger till he found what he was after.

He let the words roll off his tongue, remembering the wooden sign that had been displayed just outside the gates like it was burnt into his mind, _ “‘Welcome to Camp Chitaqua.’” _ All roads led to the same destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, apparently I initially posted this chapter out of order with the previous one, if you've read the July chapter before the June chapter, I apologize!  
Edit: Also this fic is probably on hiatus till summer. This year is proving to be a tough one.


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